


All That You Love, All That You Hate

by laireshi



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Iron Man: Director of SHIELD, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Villain Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 17:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12893319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: Director Stark is happily married to Steve Rogers. They have no secrets from each other, and quite a lot from the world—mainly that Steve Rogers is really The Captain, an infamous villain.Unfortunately, the truly important secrets rarely stay hidden, and when Steve's identity gets revealed, Tony will do anything to keep them both safe.He's a hero, but it might mean crossing a line that a villain would never even approach.





	All That You Love, All That You Hate

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very self-indulgent Director Stark/villain Steve fic. It's a 616 AU with canon events adapted for my needs.
> 
> It's a part of the Cap-IM Big Bang event. I was lucky enough to work with two awesome artists, [Faite](http://hellogarbagetime.tumblr.com/) and [ranoutofrun](http://ranoutofrun.tumblr.com/). Thank you!  
> [LINK TO FAITE'S ART](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12891630). I'm still staring at it speechless, IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL. TELL HER IT'S WONDERFUL. (Careful about fic spoilers!) [Link to the preview on tumblr.](http://hellogarbagetime.tumblr.com/post/168122526899/all-that-you-love-all-that-you-hate-by-laireshi)
> 
> [LINK TO RANOUTOFRUN'S ART](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12897372). IT'S AMAZING. GO TELL HER SO. (spoilers warning again) [Tumblr link.](http://ranoutofrun.tumblr.com/post/168170974579/capironman-big-bang-2017-all-that-you-love-all)
> 
> Big thanks to [runningondreams](http://archiveofourown.org/users/runningondreams) for beta, to [Caz](http://cazdraws.tumblr.com/) for feedback, and to Faite again for all the brainstorming, headcanons and discussions! It was so much fun!

Tony’s bleeding. It hurts, and it’ll take a moment to heal, even with Extremis, but he’s more worried about Steve—safe at home, at least tonight, unharmed, always quick to dodge and hard to hurt, and so terribly overprotective.

“It’s nothing,” Tony says as he steps into his living room, and Steve’s already raising from his armchair, concern in his eyes shifting to a promise of painful death to whoever harmed Tony. 

Steve’s at his side in a split second, frowning. “Tony,” he says. Just that.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Tony insists. He doesn’t need Steve running off now. “The bad guys are in prison. And I could do with my husband helping me dress my forearm.”

He almost feels bad at the way Steve immediately turns guilty. “Sorry,” he says. “Let’s get you to the bathroom.”

Tony lets Steve lead him to their en-suite and sit him down on the edge of the bathtub. Tony could do it all himself, but Steve obviously needs something to do, lest he go out and kill everyone who Tony fought today, and it’s not like Tony doesn’t enjoy the attention, quite the contrary. It’s nice to to be taken care of, now and then. So he closes his eyes and Steve cleans the cut on his arm, tries not to hiss at how disinfectants sting. 

“Sorry,” Steve repeats, pressing a kiss to the top of Tony’s head. He applies gauze, and wraps a bandage around Tony’s wrist to hold it in place. It’s probably not necessary, with Tony’s quickened healing, but Tony’s not going to complain. 

“Thanks, Winghead,” Tony mutters. He leans into Steve, and Steve wraps his arm around him. Tony can feel his earlier tension is gone, that he’s just content to stay with Tony now. 

_Good_. 

“You’re supposed to be the Director of SHIELD,” Steve says. “They should take better care of you.”

“Ah,” Tony says with a grin. “They can’t do that if they don’t know where I’m going.”

“ _Tony_.”

“I’ve been a superhero for ten years, Steve, and unless _you_ are willing to play my bodyguard _and play by the rules_ , I don’t see how I can put my health above that of my employees’.”

There’s something dark in Steve’s eyes now. “If something happens to you . . .”

“Nothing will,” Tony says quickly. “You know how good I am.”

Steve nods, but he’s still taut. “I do. But they’re not your employees, they’re your _soldiers_.”

“Uh huh,” Tony says, standing up. His shirt’s ruined. He should’ve taken it off earlier, so now he just winces as he shrugs out of it. “I’m not taking tips on how to run a law enforcement organisation from a _supervillain_.”

“You could take them from your _husband_.”

Tony knows this tone of Steve’s voice, and so he knows that, were he to look, he’d see Steve pout. He’s not quite immune to that yet—after ten years together, so he probably never will be—so he carefully looks away as he slides out of his trousers too. “My _husband_ could help me wash, since he already bandaged my arm.”

Steve shakes his head, but when Tony finally looks at him, he’s only smiling fondly, his earlier worry all but gone. 

It’s a mask, Tony knows that much. Steve always worries. And Tony, well, Tony doesn’t particularly worry for his own life—but he fears what Steve would unleash on the world, were something to happen to him. 

He shoves the dark thoughts down, ignores the pain in his arm, and smiles back at Steve.

***

Tony wakes up in Steve’s arms, feeling content. He inhales and exhales slowly, Steve’s scent surrounding him, and he’s safe, rested, he’s _home_. He’s in the arms of a wanted man.

He made his peace with that a long time ago.

He twists in Steve’s embrace to face him and presses a kiss to Steve’s nose. Steve’s eyes flutter open.

“I know you weren’t asleep.” Tony shakes his head at him. 

Steve concedes the point. “I like holding you.”

Something hot goes through Tony at the admission. They should explore it some more . . . later.

“You have to let me go,” Tony says. “I’ve got work.”

“No you don’t,” Steve says with a lazy smile.

Tony frowns. He looks at his wrist. He’s had 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep; it must’ve healed by now, he doesn’t need medical leave . . .

“Tony,” Steve says. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

Tony accesses his calendar with Extremis and ignores the urge to smack himself in the forehead and apologise. “Nope,” he says. “I might’ve thought it was still Thursday, though.” Steve doesn’t look convinced, so Tony shrugs, _time flies fast_. His eyes twinkle, amused. “You know how many agents will be there, don’t you.”

Steve rolls his eyes at that. “You’re allowed a day off to see your husband’s vernissage.”

“Yeah, but _you_ are an artist, and I am Iron Man, and somehow that makes Maria Hill worry for our safety.” And Tony isn’t going to argue with her about something so inconsequential. Steve can deal with it and not run off to do whatever it is he does when he picks up his shield for the evening. Tony pretends not to know the answers, and in turn Steve pretends not to notice his costume getting fixed when it gets torn, and they make it work, the Director of SHIELD and the artist from Brooklyn; the heroic Iron Man and the villainous Captain.

Steve’s a better artist than Tony’s a director, which doesn’t say much, because Tony’s a terrible director, and Steve’s an _amazing_ artist. (Steve would say Tony’s biased, and yeah, okay, but the critics seem to agree: Steven Rogers is a unique artist. If only they knew just _how_ unique.)

It’s not Steve’s first vernissage since they got married, and if at some point someone had thought, “He’s only getting the place in the expensive galleries because he’s married to Stark”, they had all been proven wrong and shut up by now. Steve is talented, and has years of practice to show for it.

And Tony, well, Tony has spent many evenings watching Steve train, go through his gymnastics routine, and he’s always inhumanly beautiful, moving as if it costs him no effort at all—and he’s spent as many evenings watching Steve paint, the way he looks at an empty canvas, biting on his lower lip, so many visions reflecting in his eyes, the way he first sets the brush to the canvas, and how he can make sense of the colours and lines in his mind and paint until Tony can see it, too, the exquisite images straight from Steve’s imagination.

Tony’s spent more evenings still working on his armour or SHIELD’s paperwork, aware that Steve’s watching him, sketching him, committing him to his memory as much as Tony’s committed Steve to his. 

“Who’s coming?” Steve asks, as if Tony’s managing his exhibitions.

“Who isn’t?” Tony asks back, because he knows this much. He frowns. “You’re not selling my piece.”

Steve frowns back. “You know earnings from this exhibition go to charity.”

_The one that pays for what the villains destroy?_ Tony wonders, but doesn’t ask. It might be the one helping poor kids get art lessons. Steve has diverse interests. 

“Guess I’ll have to buy it first,” he says then. “Be a supportive husband and all.”

Steve snickers. “Sure. The world needs more proof of _that_.”

If the world knew the truth . . . Tony can’t think about that.

He stretches and leans in for a kiss instead. Steve gives it to him, sweet and full of love, and when he tries to make it more heated, Tony breaks off. “I actually do have work to do,” he explains.

“Day off,” Steve repeats. “No supervillain attacks to distract you.”

“How truly miraculous,” Tony comments. “I have to work on the armour.”

Steve lets him go. “I don’t like how much of your time SHIELD is taking,” he says. It’s an old complaint. And Tony doesn’t like it either, really, but it’s not as if he had a choice, as if he could’ve said, “No, sorry, choose someone else.”

And leading the organisation has certain perks important when one is married to the most wanted man in the country. 

“I’ll be ready—” Tony pauses, reconsiders. He knows how he gets in the workshop. He _won’t_ be ready. “Come get me from the lab two hours early?”

Steve doesn’t laugh at him, but the amusement is there in the lines of his face as he buries himself under the pillow again.

***

Jan made both their formal suits, and Tony makes a mental note to send her a flower basket. Or maybe have a word with her about what is acceptable attire for a public event and what crosses the line into _a distraction_. He’s pretty sure Steve’s suit doesn’t fall in the first category.

It’s a deep, dark blue, the colour of the sea just before a storm. The silk material hugs Steve’s body close—Tony’s looking forward to everyone wondering _how can a painter have a body like that—_ and makes the suit flicker in the light, as if it were made of real waves and not just fabric. It fits Steve’s eyes, it fits Steve’s _everything_ , of course. His tie has spots of dark crimson red; the _Iron Man_ red, or for tonight: Tony’s suit red.

Jan laughed at him when he said he wanted to wear red, but the look in Steve’s eyes at the sight of Tony in it makes it worth it.

Tony made sure to invite some trusted photographers, too—it’s an official event, sure, but he doesn’t have nearly enough pictures with Steve, and takes every occasion he can get. And he likes the way they look in these suits, with no doubt at all that they’re together.

“You could’ve given me the Stark Industries t-shirt,” Steve jokes when Tony tells him that, and Tony shrugs. 

“I like you in a suit,” he says, which is always true, and they set out, Tony’s suitcase holding the armour in Steve’s hand. 

Funny; the things he trusts a wanted villain with. 

Then again, he’s given him his heart, knowing what it means. 

***

Iron Man found Captain America by pure chance and incredible amount of luck.

(Tony still shivers, trying to imagine what would have happened if SHIELD had found him instead, or worse: what if no one had ever found Steve at all, what if he’d stayed there, frozen forever in the Arctic, lost and alone.)

Steve had spent _decades_ in the ice, so the only thing he craved, once freed, was warmth. Tony took off his suit without a second thought and embraced Steve tight to show him that yes, the world was alive, and no, there weren’t only cold, inhuman robots in it. That times may have changed, but there was still a place for Steve there.

That Steve was not alone, not anymore.

It had been their first touch, and it didn’t really mean anything: a stranger and a lost man wishing for a connection—and by that virtue, it meant the world to both of them.

Tony didn’t have to take Steve into his own house, didn’t have to keep him a secret the way Steve asked him to, didn’t have to help him. 

But he had, and it changed _everything_.

***

Tony walks around the exhibition slowly, paying more attention to the people than to the paintings. They are, each and every one, beautiful, but he’s seen them all before, first at various stages of completion, and then the final versions. He can probably talk about the exhibition as much as Steve can: the idea behind it, the creative process, the tools used. But this is Steve’s night, so Tony’s keeping to the background, a flute of apple cider in his hand.

“One day I’ll get him into modelling for my show,” Jan says, next to him. 

“Not sure I want to share,” Tony says. He’s not entirely serious . . . but then, he’s not really joking, either. 

Jan pokes him with her finger. “I expected better from you, Director Stark.”

Tony winces. Jan knows he hates the job. 

“Ask Steve,” he says. “I won’t stop him.”

Because he knows Steve won’t agree, not even for Jan. Being at his own openings is public enough for him. Actually, probably being married to Tony is public enough for him, but he never complains about that.

“So,” Jan says. “This is your piece.”

Tony smiles and nods. He doesn’t ask how she guessed—it’s obvious. It’s a high and narrow picture; almost black in that way that’s a mix of every shade, deep and dark, and on top of it, there’s a figure, gold and red. There are no details, but everyone knows it for what it is: Iron Man against a night sky. There’s a kind of hope in it, and that’s why Tony likes it so much. Not because it’s him, but because of what it says about Steve’s view of him. 

“Do you know?” He leans into her. “He told me I’d have to buy it myself.” 

“It’s for charity, it’s only fair,” she sing-songs with zero sympathy. “And it’s not as if you weren’t planning on donating anyway.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Of course, but this is mine.” He doesn’t care he’s pouting. 

“Thank god Steve has the patience to deal with you,” Jan says, laughing. 

“I know, I’m lucky,” Tony says. “Though his day schedule isn’t all that organised—you know the creative souls.” Tony winks at her. 

“ _My_ schedule is perfectly organised, thank you very much,” Jan replies primly. 

“In between fighting villains, sure,” Tony agrees. “So is mine. Rather random, all in all.”

“Tell me about it,” Jan sighs. “Making a fashion show is such a lottery. Steve’s so lucky no one attacked any of his vernissages yet.” She frowns. “Is it that the baddies are more afraid of Iron Man than the Wasp?” 

“That would make them idiots,” Tony says, and he means it. Jan is downright _scary_ when you piss her off.

Jan beams again. “Right? And my models feel safer with an Avenger there, even if something happens.” 

“We have almost the full team here, too,” Tony mutters, looking around. He knows the guys in suits who have no idea what to do with themselves are from SHIELD, and he really needs to talk to Maria about it, but maybe on another day. It’s one thing to insist he needs hidden security, it’s another that said security is rather bad at staying hidden. But then, he wouldn’t want them to actually be able to spy on him and see some of his secrets, either. He can see Carol, her hand laced with Jessica Drew’s. Peter is at the far wall, a press ID hanging around his neck. Jessica Jones came with Luke, so Danny is probably on babysitting duty. 

“The safest place in New York today?” Jan wonders, following Tony’s eyes.

“Seems so,” he agrees. 

Not in the least because it’s _Steve_ whom the villains are afraid of crossing. Tony’s not sure how he manages that _and_ keeping his identity secret, but he’s also rather sure he doesn’t want to know too much of Steve’s methods.

“Go on,” Jan says. “Go back to him, I won’t be offended.”

“You’re the best,” Tony says, kissing her on the cheek.

“And don’t you forget it,” Jan says, waving him off. 

Tony walks back to Steve and stands quietly behind him. Steve of course must’ve heard his steps, so he extends one hand back, and Tony takes it, feels how warm Steve always is. 

“Thank you,” Steve tells the two women he’s been talking too—Tony thinks they’re art collectors—and turns to Tony, his public smile changing into a real one. 

“Hi there,” he says.

“Ready to go?” Tony asks.

Steve looks around. “I think so,” he says. “Alex will take it from here.”

Alex, Steve’s agent, is scarily efficient. They can talk Steve into attending some of the Met galas better than _Tony_ , and that is simply unfair. _Come and be my date_ should be enough, but Steve really doesn’t like public occasions.

They slide out of the main room in silence and get their coats from the lobby. Steve helps Tony into his long coat and then takes the armour suitcase from him, ever the gentleman, and Tony rolls his eyes and zips Steve’s jacket up before they go out. 

Five steps out of the gallery, Tony turns back. “Agent Castillo, is that really necessary?”

The man who left after them goes red. “Director,” he says.

“I know what sub-director Hill said, but I am in fact capable of getting home from a semi-public event,” Tony says. “You’re dismissed. Go home early, watch Starkflix with your boyfriend, relax.” Tony frowns. “And tell the others they’re free to go too.”

Tony watches a fight play over Castillo’s face. Apparently the idea of a rare calm night in wins over the threat of Maria Hill’s anger, because he nods. “Thank you, sir.”

“You have to admit,” Steve starts as they’re walking away, “it is good that she worries about you.”

“She hates having someone so public for a director and she’s trying to show it,” Tony grumbles. “I don’t blame her—I’d be mad in her position. But sometimes it gets ridiculous.”

Steve chuckles. He slows down and presses a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “A villain might want to kidnap you,” he whispers.

Tony flicks him on the nose. “A villain doesn’t have to,” he answers.

They get back to the Tower in a few minutes, for once relaxed after a long day.

As Tony falls asleep he thinks that yeah, he wishes Steve fought on his side—or rather, the side of the law; Tony can't claim Steve's ever fought against him—but it doesn't matter. He's happy. 

He really is.

***

Tony had known who Steve was from the moment he’d seen him, frozen in the ice and clinging to a shield that every person in the United States knew from history textbooks.

But Steve didn’t want to be Captain America, once Tony brought him, still shivering, to the Mansion. Tony kicked up the climate controls and asked Jarvis to bring Steve as many blankets as he needed, but of course, that wasn’t really the problem. Steve wasn’t cold, or at least not physically.

So Tony kept himself close, touched Steve when he passed him, leant against him in the library, gave him the human warmth that Steve clearly needed. 

“So you’re a hero,” Steve said one day. 

Tony looked away. “Iron Man is a hero.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Tony, but _you_ are Iron Man.”

Tony just shrugged. He didn’t feel like a hero. He couldn’t explain it.

This was the problem: Tony knew _of_ Steve—he certainly didn’t know Steve, at least not yet—but Steve knew nothing of Tony, of the modern world. He didn’t know what the name Stark meant. Tony had offered to show him the world, but Steve had refused—he’d needed some time, first, he’d said. 

Tony could understand that much. 

“Thank you,” Steve said after the silence grew to be too long.

“What for?” Tony asked, surprised.

“For finding me,” Steve said. He raised his hand to indicate he was still talking and Tony bit on his lower lip to stop himself from interrupting. “I _know_ what you’d say, Tony, that it was pure luck, but you could’ve done a million different things, and you decided to help me. To let me stay, here, with you. _Thank you_.”

“I couldn’t do anything else,” Tony said, because he didn’t know how to react. “And—if you’re ever wondering—I would do it again. I would always choose this, having you here with me. _Always_.”

The smile Steve gave him then, the almost shy but definitely joyful smile—it was the first time Tony had seen Steve smile in the new century.

He wanted to see more of it.

***

Tony dresses in his SHIELD uniform the next morning, more than aware of Steve’s gaze following his every move. 

“I’m not a fan of what it all entails,” Steve says, waving his hand around, “but I have to say, putting you in this uniform is the one thing SHIELD got right.”

Tony smiles drily. “I’ll be sure to let them know.” He zips up on the sides, the thin, black material clinging to his body. He knows it’s bulletproof—and he updated it so that it can act as the armour undersuit—but it always feels exceptionally light around him. He pulls on the thigh holster that’s part of the uniform even if he doesn’t actually carry a weapon— _I’m Iron Man, remember_ , he told Maria Hill when she raised her eyebrows upon seeing him technically unarmed.

Steve sits up. “I rather want to pull you back to bed,” he drawls. 

Tony makes the mistake of looking up and seeing Steve’s naked chest and his lazy smile. He swallows. “Much as I’d enjoy it,” he says, “one of us _has_ a legal job to do.”

Steve frowns. “Should I feel insulted? You have just been to _my_ vernissage.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Full-time job, then,” he corrects himself. 

Steve sighs. “Sorry,” he says. “I know you didn’t want it.”

Tony shrugs. What’s there to say? “If no disaster strikes,” he says pointedly, “I’ll try to be back early. We could go out for dinner.”

“Mm, a date, Mr. Stark?” Steve asks, playing with the wedding ring on his right hand. 

“What can I say? My husband always calls me a workaholic.” Tony pulls on his gloves as he speaks, covering his own ring. “Time to break the habit.”

Steve laughs, and Tony can’t help himself from smiling; he likes the sound of it, the moments when Steve’s not serious and is just here with him, not thinking about whatever it is he does when he disappears, what Tony _can’t_ think too hard about. 

Steve rises from the bed in one fluid motion, pulls Tony in with hands suddenly wrapped around his waist, and kisses him, slowly, on the mouth. 

“Come back soon, Tony,” he asks.

“Be safe, Steve,” Tony answers as he always does.

***

Tony knows Steve’s growing restless. He’s sure Steve’s still at home, hopefully painting—probably training. He’s not good at just sitting around, enjoying himself. He needs to _fix_ the world.

He’d be a great superhero, if only he weren’t a villain.

Tony doesn’t normally straight-out ask him to stay home, not do anything, but today . . . Steve’s obviously still on edge from Tony’s last fight, even if the cut on his forearm is barely visible anymore. And Tony isn’t worried about himself, but spending the day with Steve was so nice and so rare. Tony _wants_ this date tonight, dammit, a few hours just for the two of them with no masks necessary. He thinks he deserves it, just today. 

At the helicarrier, he heads straight for his office. He has a ton of paperwork to go through, mission reports to read, new missions to sign on, intel to sift through. Extremis helps, but it can’t actually put his signature to paper, so Tony sighs and gets to it. 

In his mind, he’s turning his armour around, looking for weak points. He hasn’t had as much time as he’d like to work on the Extremis armour. It’s new and powerful, but most of his tests so far have been _combat_ tests by necessity, and Tony doesn’t want to find a weakness that way. 

There’s a crisis in Madripoor—there’s _always_ a crisis in Madripoor—and he wants nothing more than to call his armour and fly there himself but he grits his teeth, leans back in his chair, and connects to his agents via Extremis. “What do you need?” he asks, and then he runs op support from his chair, hacking information for them faster than any SHIELD programmer on roll would be able to do, feeding them data and safe exit points. 

It’s tiring but satisfying, and by the end of it three SHIELD agents make it out alive, if not unhurt, and the fourth is rushed in med evac as soon as they reach safe borders.

Tony couldn’t do more, he tells himself.

“Should we check if you’re not a Skrull, Director Stark?” Maria Hill asks. Tony forces himself not to twitch, opens his eyes slowly as if he knew she was there, observing him.

“You’re the one who told me to stop going into action, sub-director Hill,” he says with a sharp grin. He checks the time mentally and is surprised to find it’s almost six. His work hours really aren’t regulated, but he has just saved a mission, and it doesn’t look like there’s anything else requiring his immediate attention right now. “And now, I’ll take my leave. Try not to lose the world overnight.”

“Yes, sir,” she says. If she’s surprised at him leaving, she hides it well. And yeah, Tony has a tendency to drown himself in work, sure, but he also has a loving husband waiting for him at home. At least when said husband isn’t responsible for Tony staying up late to clean up one attack or another. Though Steve _has_ gotten pretty good at avoiding SHIELD’s operations. He used not to trust SHIELD, but he trusts _Tony_. 

Tony’s smiling a bit at the thought of it as he gathers his things, suits up and flies to Stark Tower. 

Steve’s waiting for him at the landing pad.

Tony orders the armour to disassemble as soon as he touches down—it wouldn’t do if someone spotted Steve lifting armoured-up Tony off the ground—and then falls straight into Steve’s arms, laughing. “I missed you too,” Tony says.

Steve kisses him in reply, acting like a man starved. Tony opens his mouth when Steve licks over his lips, and holds on to Steve’s arms hard enough to bruise a normal man when his legs go soft under him. Steve takes the invitation and plunges his tongue inside Tony’s mouth, and after the day he’s had, Tony’s content to let him lead and explore. Steve somehow has the presence of mind to try and walk them backwards, inside the Tower, and Tony clings to him and follows his steps and keeps kissing him, faster, more desperate. 

And then, once they’re inside and the glass door slide shut behind them, Steve chuckles and steps away, letting Tony lean against the glass wall instead. 

Tony is breathless, and he does _not_ like Steve’s expression in the slightest. “Come back here,” he orders.

Steve shakes his head, looking way too pleased with himself. “You promised me a date, Mister Stark. I’m expecting a nice restaurant.” He tilts his head. “I’ll do without flowers, I guess,” he adds magnanimously. 

Tony stares at him, his chest still heaving. “You,” he says, “are _evil_.”

Steve grins at that. “Haven’t you heard? You married the villain.”

Tony shakes his head in disbelief, but it doesn’t look like Steve’s going to relent, so Tony starts planning sweet revenge for later. It might involve reinforced handcuffs.

And first, he’s got a date to prepare for. Much as Steve likes the SHIELD uniform, Tony’s not going to go out in it. 

***

“I need,” Steve said, and stopped.

Tony looked up at him with some worry. Steve had been getting better, he thought—no longer shivering all the time, he’d taken up painting and started learning about his new century. 

He’d never before asked Tony for anything, and he had to know Tony would give him everything he wanted. 

So what was the issue?

“Steve?” Tony encouraged him.

“I have to move out,” Steve said.

Tony told himself his heart wasn’t breaking and willed himself to listen.

“I—I need a space for myself,” Steve said. “I can’t stay hiding from the world in your home forever, Tony.”

“It could be your home,” Tony said before he could stop himself.

But Steve only smiled. “You’ve made that very clear. But . . . I can’t. Not after everything. I—I’m not Captain America. I don’t know who Steve Rogers is. I have to figure it out. Here . . . I love this place,” Steve explained, “but it’s so very _you_ , I can’t think.”

Tony winced. “I’m sorry.”

Steve was shaking his head even before Tony finished speaking. “It’s not a _bad_ thing. But now—now I need something for myself.”

“Of course,” Tony agreed. He couldn’t really refuse Steve anything. 

“And . . .” Steve hesitated. “I’ll need an ID, right?”

Tony’s eyes flashed. “Are you asking me to forge your documents?” Tony made sure. “If only everyone knew this side of Captain America.”

“Well, we’ve established that’s not really me,” Steve said. “And yes. That’s what I’m asking. Just . . . Keep my name.”

Tony huffed a laugh. “Not gonna lie, Steven became a very popular name after the war.”

Steve opened his mouth as if to say something else, and closed it again. 

Tony frowned. “Steve?” 

Steve rubbed at his temple. “I need space,” he repeated, slowly. “This doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you.”

Tony felt the tension leaving him at once, because he was going to do everything Steve wanted, everything he needed to feel better—but he’d been afraid that that would be it, they wouldn’t meet again. It was good to know this wasn’t that.

“You gave me a StarkPhone,” Steve continued, “so I think we can find some time to meet even if we’re not living together?”

“Of course,” Tony said, a bit too quick. “I’d love that.”

“And,” Steve said, this time without any hesitation, in a steady voice. “I know I’m asking for a lot. I know it’ll cost you money. Yes, yes, I know you don’t care about that. But when I’m—when I’m done, looking for my answers, I’ll pay you back.” Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Steve shook his finger at him. “This isn’t a discussion, Tony, this is a promise.”

And Tony could see why Steve had become Captain America, in his posture and in his determination that day. 

“Deal,” Tony said, and it was.

Tony got all the necessary documentation for Steve to prove he was really a Steve Rogers, born in 1982, twenty five years old. His parents died last year, leaving him with an inheritance, and a house in central New York. It wasn’t very big, but Steve didn’t want big: he wanted something _his_. There was a room, in a corner of the second floor south-facing, with ceiling-high windows. It was Steve’s art studio, filled with art supplies.

Steve thanked Tony and said it was perfect.

He kept his word, in every aspect: he kept calling Tony, they kept going out together, sometimes to just walk and talk, sometimes to drink coffee in companionable silence.

He took to painting again, artworks that somehow felt both classic and modern, and left more questions than answers in the spectator’s mind. Art critics _loved_ them. Tony observed him, of course, went to exhibitions and offered his advice on galleries—but still, he was surprised when one day Steve paid him back in full for everything Tony had done for him. He accepted the check, because he knew he had no choice, and sent the entirety of it to the Maria Stark Foundation.

And after that, Steve still kept calling, or Tony called first, and they were in a routine, of sorts, and things were good.

***

Judging by Steve’s expression, he appreciates Tony in a tailored suit, too. 

“I’ve got reservations for us at The Grandma’s Inn,” Tony says, “but if you prefer somewhere else?”

“The Grandma’s Inn is great,” Steve answers a little breathlessly. “And then dessert?”

“And then _dessert._ ” Tony grins, fixing Steve’s tie.

The Grandma’s Inn is close by, so they go on foot. There’s still a lot of people out, but Tony knows Steve enjoys just walking, not always being driven everywhere. Not even the paparazzi and random people taking their pictures can really spoil it for him. 

And so they stroll through the evening air, Tony’s suitcase once more in Steve’s hand, and talk idly. There’s too big a chance of getting overheard for either of them to say something truly important, but that’s okay. Tony could talk to Steve about weather for hours and still enjoy it, or be silent, and still be happy, as long as he’s with Steve.

The Grandma’s Inn serves Polish food, which Steve had developed a taste for during the war, though obviously a restaurant in New York is hardly similar to what grateful Polish villagers might’ve offered Steve in the forties.

They order pierogi with various fillings—they both know they’ll steal from each other’s plate anyway—and tea, and wait.

“Thanks,” Tony says when the waiter serves their food, and immediately takes his first bite off Steve’s portion. “It tastes better that way,” he tells Steve after he chews. It is delicious, so for a moment the both of them just eat in silence. 

“Food is the only good thing I remember from those times,” Steve mutters. Tony reaches out to take his hand in his, and Steve lets him, but he shakes his head as if to said that it’s not necessary right now. 

“Well,” Tony says, prolonging the e, “I’d love to eat the blackberry ones with sugar, but someone promised me des—”

He’s interrupted by a call, and he taps his temple absently to let Steve know he’s using Extremis, all of his attention on the call already.

“Yes, Hill?” he asks.

“You won’t like it,” she says grimly. “Iron Man armours have been spotted attacking New York. I’m sending you coordinates.”

Fuck.

“I’m on it,” Tony tells her, and disconnects.

He’s very, very still as he looks at his husband. “Steve,” he says, his voice low and serious, “ _stay here_.”

Steve grabs him by his shoulders, reaching over the table. A glass of water falls to the ground; neither of them pays it any attention. “Like hell,” he growls. “What’s going on, Tony?”

Tony shakes his head. “This is not your fight. I don’t know if the Tower is safe right now, so _stay here_. Or go to one of your hideouts, I don’t care, just _don’t engage_. This is mine.”

He wrenches himself out of Steve’s grip—a feat that wouldn’t have been possible before Extremis—and runs, summoning the armour to him, wondering how bad of an idea _that_ is. He knows Steve’s hot on his heels, but he forces himself not to look back, and as soon as the armour engulfs him, he flies away.

“Avengers, Fantastic Four,” he says on a hopefully still-secure frequency. “Someone hacked into my systems. I do not yet know how, but the armours wreaking havoc in New York right now _are not controlled by me_. Take them down as soon as you can. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t wait for answers. He knows everyone who’s heard him will help.

“Agents of SHIELD,” he says on another frequency. “This is your Director speaking. Do not engage in New York.” He knows the baseline agents have no chances against an Iron Man armour. “Land the helicarrier in a secure area ASAP and run a full systems check.”

He brings up a map of the attacks and focuses on Central Park, where he can see three of his suits attacking. Ms. Marvel catches up to him as he flies there.

“What’s it about?” she asks. 

“Hell if I know,” he admits grimly. “One armour, that I _could_ understand.” Or at least it would be _easier_. “But there are, what, three places where they attacked, my own tech, and _I’ve no idea why_.” And it’s making him more on edge than he cares to admit, but Carol’s been his friend for years, she has to know as much. 

“Okay. We got it, Tony.” Her quiet confidence doesn’t quite settle his nerves, but he feels a bit better. Carol’s strong and amazing—and they trust each other. Her first thought wasn’t, _have you gone evil now_? 

(For a brief, terrible moment, Tony wonders if Steve’s _disappointed_ that it’s not him controlling the armours destroying New York now; then he pushes it away, disgusted at himself. Steve _has_ rules. If he sees mindless destruction, he usually stops it himself.)

They land, and Carol doesn’t waste time before aiming an energy blast at the nearest suit. Tony, for his part, tries to bring them down through Extremis, but he keeps hitting a wall. He _can_ feel them in his network, they’re not disconnected, but . . . It’s like a firewall, keeping him out. He’s got no idea how that is possible, how anything can stop him from accessing his own systems. Yet more questions with no good answers.

In the end, it comes down to an old-fashioned fight, Iron Man armour against Iron Man armour, and Tony punches it out with whoever it is that’s controlling them.

Because that is the issue here. It’s not just a program gone awry controlling his armours. He tested various AI systems in the suits, and they were good, but they couldn’t make up for a human controller. The only reason he could control many armours at once these days was Extremis, with Tony’s own brain used as the CPU. The way these armours are fighting . . . There’s a human being somewhere controlling them. 

A human being, who has hacked Tony’s security and stolen his tech and is fighting him. 

This makes no sense, but Tony doesn’t have time to worry about it now. He thinks the controller is inexperienced, but the armours are still strong, dangerous—Tony would know, he fucking built them. 

Luckily, he’s got Carol at his back, and Carol is the best hero he knows. Her energy blasts are very effective against the armours (scarily so; Tony thinks he should be better to able shield himself from similar types of damage). Tony’s armour is a better model, too, faster and harder. 

They make it a short fight.

But it’s too long anyway.

“Stark!”

Tony winces as Maria Hill connects with his armour. “I told SHIELD not to engage,” Tony snaps. “It’s not safe.”

“No, but we are observing what’s going on and helping the civilians. There’s a Hulkbuster at East 23rd street.”

“Fuck.”

“Thought you’d like to know that. The Fantastic Four are trying to contain another armour at Columbus Avenue and 81st.”

Tony pales. “Is there no one at the Hulkbuster?”

“Avengers en-route,” Maria Hill says, pauses. “And _the Captain_.”

Tony’s heart is beating wildly in his chest. What’s Steve doing here? What does Maria Hill know? Steve _isn’t_ dumb enough to try and take on Hulkbuster on his own, is he? 

He wills himself to sound disdainful and he’s pretty sure he falls. “That’s not bad, then? Let them take out each other.”

“As long as it’s your company paying the city later.”

Tony shuts the connection between them. Carol’s looking at him, clearly worried. 

“A Hulkbuster armour on the loose,” Tony says grimly by the way of explanation. 

Carol’s eyes widen. “Is there anyone there?”

“Yes,” Tony says drily. “Our old friend, _The Captain_.”

He takes off, flying in that direction, Carol behind him.

“Tony,” she says on the way, catching up to him and flying an arm away. “Is there something you want to tell me first?”

Tony looks stubbornly ahead. “I’d love to tell you how the armours got hacked, Marvel, but I’ve no idea.”

Her silence seems heavy, but then they arrive.

***

Tony hadn’t expected to see Steve in his home, but maybe he should’ve known Steve would turn up now. Tony wasn’t blind, after all. 

In a way, he had always known, ever since he’d first heard of a mysterious _Captain_ attacking American weaponry deposits, targeting SHIELD’s warehouses, and lately seen killing a murderer that the jury let go free. There were constant rumours of _someone_ with a Captain America shield working in the shadows—albeit a villain and not a hero. Tony had never met him in field, though, because the Captain, for some mysterious reason, had never attacked the Avengers, had never fought against them. 

It could really only be one person. It was always obvious, and it wasn’t surprising at all, if you looked, which Tony tried not to do.

He’d been going on coffee dates, or maybe just dates, with Steve for years, and he’d never asked, and Steve had never said. 

It was never important to what _they_ were to each other. 

And yet, here Steve was, waiting in the dark in Tony’s living room when Tony was accused of murder, no hesitation, no doubts, no judgement on Steve’s face: only worry.

“Are you okay?” were Steve’s first words to him.

Tony huffed a tired laugh. “I’m not sure it’s safe to be near me,” he says. “I’m accused of murder, you know.”

Steve shrugged languidly. “I know you’re innocent. But even if you weren’t—do you really think I care about that, Tony?”

Something in Tony uncurled with relief at that, at hearing that Steve believed in him, that he didn’t think that Iron Man really went insane and killed the Carnelian ambassador. 

He considered something, a half-formed idea becoming reality. “So, as my bodyguard is gone . . .” 

Steve snickered at that.

“I need a way to defend myself,” Tony said. 

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Teach me,” Tony said. 

Steve looked him up and down, a bit too slowly, too intently. “Sure,” he said finally. “Though something tells me you’re in a better shape than your _day job_ might imply.”

“Aren’t we both?” Tony shot back, and Steve just chuckled.

But as they were walking towards the mansion gym, Steve stopped Tony, grabbing him by his elbow with a warm hand. “Someone’s trying to set you up,” he said quietly. “Do you know _who_ it is?” There was something in his voice, something dark and easy like a threat.

“I can fight my own fights,” Tony just said, and Steve nodded, and that was it.

Steve was a good teacher, and Tony was a good student. They worked on Tony’s habit of leaving himself wide open when he attacked, used to the armour protecting him, on how Tony’s instinctual reaction to danger was to extend his hand, palm out. Steve taught him how to defend himself without the armour, how to fight with nothing but his body as a weapon.

It was trying, and it was necessary, and it was also incredibly satisfying.

But it wasn’t until Iron Man had been declared not guilty that Steve finally accepted Tony’s _very_ obvious invitations, and as he held Tony down on the mat, with Tony unable to move underneath him and absolutely not worried about it, Steve leant down and kissed him, and Tony enthusiastically kissed him back.

***

Tony’s heart skips a beat as they land and he sees Steve hurling his shield at the Hulkbuster, as if that could help any against the armour designed and built to withstand the Hulk.

And not just when he’s feeling nice.

Steve hasn’t any chance.

_do i have your attention?_

Tony freezes. The line is blinking against his HUD. He scans his environment, but there’s nothing unusual—East 23rd Street after dark, SHIELD agents evacuating civilians, Carol who’s now helping Steve fight Tony’s armour. 

_i'm not here_

Of course they’d say it, Tony thinks.

_i'm not actually controlling this armour, either. you proved you’re better at that._

The Hulkbuster punches Steve, the force which throws him metres away. Tony stands frozen to the spot.

_extremis isn’t yours. so i set it against you. you're fighting yourself, mr stark._

_and you’d know best how to win this fight, wouldn’t you?_

Who are you, Tony wants to yell, but there’s no point. There won’t be any answer. Someone with a vendetta, that’s for sure, but _who_? Not Maya—it _can’t_ be Maya, he thinks almost hysterically—but it’s not really important in this precise moment. 

Nothing is important, except that his strongest armour is firing at Carol, more energy than even she can absorb quickly.

Tony feels sick. The armour doesn’t even turn to him. Instead, it looks around—and he knows exactly what it’s doing. It’s looking for more targets. Targets other than him. His friends—

“ _Avengers_ ,” he says on the comms, “ _stay out of this._ ”

To his left, to Tony’s horror, Steve’s slowly getting back to his feet. His uniform is torn in multiple places, there’s blood on his side, he’s limping. He throws Tony a worried look—probably wondering if someone hacked Tony’s armour, too—and then he throws himself at the Hulkbuster again. 

The armour catches him in one giant fist and lifts him up.

Steve screams.

More targets, Tony thinks numbly: his friends, and _his lover_. 

“No!” he yells, and he finally shakes himself and jumps into action. He fires at the armour, but he can’t harm it, not with the firepower in this suit. That’s the point of the Hulkbuster armour. No weak points.

“15-25-35-45, armour override: Anthony Stark,” he says, but it doesn’t work, _of course_ it doesn’t work, Steve must’ve tried his override first.

Why couldn’t he just go home, hide and wait and _be safe_?

Tony’s staring in horror as his armour is crushing Steve’s ribs.

“Tony . . . ? What—” Carol kneels up.

“Stay down,” Tony tells her grimly, pulling off his helmet. 

That seems to give her energy. “What are you doing?!”

“This armour is connected to me,” Tony says. “So there’s only one way to stop it. Before—”

Steve’s scream cuts him off. Tony closes his eyes. He aims both his repulsors at his chest, presses them to the main armour node, charges up to ten thousands volts.

A backfire strong enough to stop his heart.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” he whispers.

He fires.

There’s a moment of pain that seems to be coming from every nerve receptor at once, pain strong enough to black out even his worry about Steve, to black out everything—

He doesn’t see if his plan worked, doesn’t see Carol’s expression, doesn’t see if Steve’s free or whether or not the Hulkbuster armour goes down; he doesn’t see anything else.

He falls.

***

The first time Tony had seen Steve in a cell was a shock. Not because he hadn’t considered the possibility, but because he hadn’t considered that for _all the possible dumb reasons_ , Steve chose this one. 

“The infamous Captain,” Tony said, rocking on the balls of his feet, scanning the cell security. Reinforced bars, added digital layer; _Stark_ written on the lock. Tony bit back a sharp grin. “Captured, at last.”

Steve growled at him. It almost covered the naked worry on his face as he looked Tony over. “I _could’ve_ left Iron Man to die, if you’d rather.”

“Ah,” Tony said, knowingly. “He’s fine, since you seem to _care_.”

He was fine, because he _hadn’t been in any danger_. So the suit had crashed. It hadn’t been the first time. Wouldn’t be the last. Tony had been prepared.

“Hardly,” Steve snaps. “But I don’t like killing.”

“Thank you for saving my employee all the same,” Tony said. “And I’m glad you won’t get to destroy any other SHIELD property.”

There was a challenge in Steve’s eyes.

“So long, then,” Tony said, and walked out.

The cells had his locks, which would’ve helped if hacking them was his only option, but he knew he hadn’t signed a contract for the power generators to this facility. That evening, Tony hacked into the mainframe, and brought the power in the cell block down.

(It turned out later that Steve _wasn’t_ the only person who could’ve escaped in the three minutes when the locks stopped working, only he knocked out Doctor Octopus and kicked him back inside a cell before leaving.

Steve had rules; his own.

Tony was pretty sure the first one was _protect Tony Stark_ , and he wasn’t happy with it, but then, the first of Tony’s was _protect Steve Rogers_ so who he was to judge?)

***

Tony comes to slowly.

He supposes he shouldn’t complain—he hadn’t really planned on _surviving_. He hopes that he succeeded, that Steve is alive and safe. 

Something is wrong, though. There’s a strong smell of disinfectant, irritating his nose, and a steady beep of a heart monitor, which he’s hated for years. The lights are too sharp. He has to blink, but his vision is still blurry. He’s clearly in hospital, and that is never good in his books.

But there’s something else that’s not quite right. 

His first thought is Extremis, but no: he can feel the digital hum of the devices around him: first the heart monitor, and further away, tablets, laptops, the hospital WiFi, cellular network, up to the Stark Satellites. What’s . . . 

He tries to rub his eyes, and he _can’t_. 

It hits him, then: the cold hard metal around his wrist, cuffing him to the bed. 

“You’re awake then, _Mister Stark_ ,” Maria Hill says.

Tony looks in the direction of her voice. After a few long seconds, his eyes focus, and he can see her, in the SHIELD uniform, one hand on a still holstered gun. 

“Is that necessary?” Tony asks. “I’m injured. What can I possibly do to you?”

“You’re also a traitor,” she spits. 

_No_.

_Nonono_.

That’s impossible. She can’t—she can’t know. They’re so careful, Steve and him, she _can’t know_.

An image hits him: the Hulkbuster armour, crushing Steve, Tony stopping his own heart, but not before Steve _stops_ screaming, and . . . 

Was he too late? Tony panics. 

“ _Is he alright_?” He knows all the reasons for which this is _not_ what he should be saying right now, and he doesn’t care, because if Steve’s—if Steve—if Tony was too late, none of them matter. Nothing matters. He needs to hear that Steve has survived.

Maria Hill looks at him coldly. “Funny,” she says. “Some people wanted to believe that you didn’t know your husband’s night job. That you almost killed yourself to save a villain, and didn’t know his identity. I knew—you’re not _stupid_ , Mister Stark, you must’ve known—but it’s nice to hear the confirmation.”

Tony shakes his head throughout her speech. It’s not important, doesn’t she get it, nothing else is important, he has to know. “Just tell me,” he begs. “Is he alright?”

She frowns, as if he surprised her. “Steve Rogers, _The Captain_. I guess he’s the original one, too?”

“Tell me,” Tony whispers.

“He’s in the Raft, awaiting trial. Since he escaped the SHIELD cells one time too many. I guess now we know why.”

Tony settles against his pillows with a quiet exhale. Steve’s fine. He’s okay. Tony saved him. 

“Don’t worry,” Maria Hill adds. “They might even put you in neighbouring cells if you ask nicely.”

And just like that, it hits Tony.

He might’ve saved Steve’s life, but this _is_ the end. Neither of them will ever be let out of their cells again. Steve’s a supervillain, and Tony, well, Maria said that already.

Tony’s the traitor who slept with him. Who _married_ him. Who turned a blind eye, for years, if they don’t come up with anything else.

He wonders what the charge will be. Just hiding Steve’s identity? Or being a double agent? It doesn’t matter. Even if he were to plead not guilty, even if he were believed—and that will never happen, not without Wanda’s powers of reality manipulation—even if Tony were to miraculously walk free, _Steve_ wouldn’t.

Steve would have hundreds of years of sentence on his head.

And even if Tony broke him out, broke them both out? What life would await them, constantly on the run? 

It’s too late. It’s the disaster that had always been waiting for them, since their first kiss, finally arrived. Tony supposes he should be grateful, in a way: they had over ten happy years together. That’s more than he could’ve hoped for.

He’s a futurist. It should’ve been obvious this time would come. He should’ve prepared.

He didn’t.

Maria Hill is looking at him, and under her confident words, there’s a layer of inexplicable sadness, and Tony Stark doesn’t know what to do. 

He can’t lose Steve. Not like this. Not ever. 

And he thinks—he would do it. He would break out, he would break Steve out; he would betray everything he stands for and he’d be the villain he’s surely being called even now, he would do it all if it meant being with Steve . . . But would it be life, looking over their shoulders every waking moment? He guesses it’s the most they can hope for, now, and yet.

Extremis, in the back of his head, is showing him news and headlines, and he sees it all, Tony Stark, public enemy number one, worse than _the Captain_ , because Tony lied and swore he was protecting people, and now it’s plain for everyone to see, he’s only ever been protecting Steve.

Tony can’t even say it’s not true. 

Not for the first time, Tony is grateful that he managed to keep Extremis and what it really let him do a secret. He looks at Hill, calculating. “I didn’t set those armours to attack New York,” he says. This is true, but he’s not sure if anyone will believe him now.

Maria Hill nods. “You were hacked.”

“By whom?” Tony asks intently.

Maria Hill just looks at him. 

“Come on—director Hill, isn’t it, now? I’m in jail”—he waves his cuffed hand at her—”or might as well be, it won’t hurt you to tell me.”

“I’m not an idiot, Mister Stark. I’m not going to feed you any information.”

With that, she turns on her heel and leaves; not even a second passes before another agent comes in. Tony tilts his head. He can’t recognize them with the helmet on, but he’s sure he must know the agent.

Then again, if the agent is here, they must hate Tony now.

Tony closes his eyes and pretends to fall asleep. 

Instead, he reaches for Extremis. He’s searching. He’s not quite comfortable doing it—someone _has_ just hacked through his systems—but he has no other way of finding out who. If Maria Hill _knew_ it was a hacker, then chances are she detained them. 

Tony accesses the SHIELD mainframe—hacking in is way too easy, though he _does_ know every in and out. He worked there, after all, only yesterday. Half of the systems or more were his own creations to begin with.

He goes through layers of security, until reaching the top level. He huffs a laugh, seeing that he could still use his own credentials. He’s tempted to do it—but he’d rather remain unrevealed than teach their security department some basics, so he logs in as Maria Hill and accesses the files on yesterday’s disaster. 

_Director of SHIELD - traitor_

_The Captain - Steve Rogers_

Tony forces himself not to react visibly, even as he wants to scream. It would be easy, to delete the files, and it would be dangerous. It was too public to start with, and by now, the media have picked it up. Tony can’t just _unhappen_ all of it. 

The next folder he finds reads, _Iron Man armours - hacked_. He opens that one and reads what’s inside, and bites on his own tongue, hard. The agent watching him probably knows that Tony is only faking being asleep, but he _can’t_ realise Tony can do quite a lot just with his mind. 

Yinsen’s son, blaming Tony for his father’s death. The boy was right, Tony thinks grimly. And now he’s dead, too. A SHIELD agent noticed a guy with a controller device near Riverside Park, and correctly assumed he was the one controlling the armours nearby. 

_Fuck_.

It’s Tony’s worst nightmare happening, all at once. All the demons of his past, catching up. 

He loves Steve. He just wants to be with him.

He should’ve known he didn’t deserve it.

It was always going to end like this.

He needs to plan.

***

Tony’s surprised to see Carol at his bedside. He was sure he wasn’t allowed visitors, but here she is, defying expectations. 

“I have a good track record,” Carol says as an explanation to his unvoiced question. “They let me in.”

“Marred only by our friendship?” Tony asks quietly. “I’m sorry, Carol.”

Carol shakes her head. “Nope,” she says. “I’m not here for that.”

Tony raises his eyebrow in question. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” Carol asks.

Tony sighs. “Always,” he says. “And I really do love him, even so.”

Carol bites on her lower lip. He doesn’t like seeing her insecure like that, uncertain. 

“I didn’t _work_ with him,” Tony mutters. Tries to explain. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t a villain.”

But he harboured one. He let him escape multiple times. A hero wouldn’t have done that, not even for love.

“The sad thing is, I believe you,” Carol answers. “There’s always been something _off_ about Steve, but I saw the way he looks at you, like you’re his whole world, so I never wondered. I let all my doubts go.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony repeats.

Carol touches his hand, squeezes it once, as if for comfort. Her own hand is warm, like always, full of her own power. When she steps back, Tony feels cold.

“You’re my friend. I suppose I can understand what you did for him.”

With that, she’s gone, and Tony slowly understands there’s a whole other reason his hand feels so cold.

Because Carol’s left a key between his fingers.

That’s one decision he doesn’t have to make, then, he thinks as he manoeuvres until he can open the handcuff.

His guard comes back into the room. Tony presses his hand to the rail, as if it were still cuffed, and reaches out with Extremis. The agent’s comm turns on, _Emergency code 616_ rattled off, loud in the small hospital room. The agent looks at Tony, back at his comm.

“What? Are you expecting me to remind you what SHIELD codes stand for just because I was your director a week back?” Tony asks.

_Off-world threat on Earth, abandon all tasks and assemble immediately_.

The agent shakes their head, once, and runs out of the room. 

Tony smiles.

He walks to the window. He’s on the twelfth floor and the windows aren’t barred at this height. Distantly, he can feel his armour. He orders it to turn on the stealth mode, and then he steps out of the window.

The moment of freefall is exhilarating, just air against his face and gravity bringing him down . . .

The armour catches up to him, assembling around his body, and then he’s flying up and away, invisible to most, and very, very focused.

_I’m coming, Steve_.

***

They never talked about it; what Tony did when he put on the armour, and what Steve did when he disappeared into the night.

They kissed and they shared a bed and then one of them would leave in the morning, and they would always, always meet again—but they wouldn’t ever talk about the life behind the masks.

It was fine. Why break something that worked? 

To avoid precisely this, Tony thought bitterly, staring at the Captain through the Iron Man mask. 

They’d met at a SHIELD facility. Tony wasn’t exactly here in _legal_ way, but Steve . . .

“Iron Man,” Steve said.

“Captain,” Tony replied.

“Come to arrest me?” Steve asked, tilting his head. There was something in his voice, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was even on the table.

He was right, of course.

Tony shook his head slowly. “They have something that belongs to me,” he said, feeling as if his world was tilting on its axis. Everything seemed wrong. One of them _should_ be stopping the other, but he had a feeling like it should be Steve stopping him, here. 

But Steve only smiled. “So I’ve heard.”

Tony’s eyes widened as he understood the implication. “Is that why you’re here?” he asked.

Steve shrugged, looking around. “I don’t particularly care for SHIELD.” 

He didn’t say what, or _who_ , he cared for.

Steve grinned then, sharp and dangerous. “Wanna team-up, Iron Man?” he asked. 

_I’m a superhero_ , Tony though. _A superhero breaking into a national agency to take back his own tech_.

“It’s a date,” he said aloud, and Steve’s expression turned almost _soft_ for a fleeting moment.

They destroyed Tony’s weapons in the compound. And then, as they were leaving, Tony turned to Steve, and decided to go for it.

“I think,” he said, enjoying the way Steve immediately stepped closer to him, “that you should move back in with me.”

“A hero and a villain?” Steve asked, but he sounded amused.

“We can _definitely_ make it work,” Tony said, gesturing to the fire around them.

“Oh, we can,” Steve agreed in a heated voice. Tony would’ve kissed him right then and there, and he cursed the Iron Man helmet. 

“So?” Tony asked.

“Do you really need to hear my answer?” Steve shot back. “I’ll come tonight.”

“To stay,” Tony said.

“To stay,” Steve agreed.

***

The last time Tony had been at the Raft, it was to make sure the escaping villains would stay _inside_ the prison. 

Now, his goal is the opposite.

The experience gained isn’t really that useful, either: disabling all the security measures will work, yes, it always does, but Tony doesn’t really want to set all the resident supervillains loose. 

Just Steve.

He’s flying in stealth mode, but if he gets too close, he _will_ get spotted. He can loop the security videos and open Steve’s cell, that’s child’s play, but there _are_ patrolling guards, and Tony has no way to contact Steve and warn him in advance. Extremis lets him do a lot—Tony used to be happy it was in his hands, on the side of the law, considering how dangerous it was, but circumstances change—but it has its limits.

_Or_ , Tony thinks. _Or_.

Extremis really is a powerful thing, when one’s a genius.

Tony changes his course and flies for one of his safehouses upstate. On paper, it belongs to a small pharmaceutical company, an abandoned research centre. It was closed down to cut down costs, but not yet sold. (Not yet sold for 3 years, but who’s counting?). If someone dug through layers and layers of dummy corporations, they might find a link to one Edward Strong, and Tony knows even that much is too much of a footprint, but for a few days, it’ll do. And then he’ll hope Steve has something better up his sleeve.

He lands and gets out of the armour so the eye-scanner can let him in. He hasn’t renovated all of it, but there are some cots, a usable bathroom, and a kitchen, and, most importantly, a lab. It’s pretty basic, but it’ll do.

He goes to the lab, powers up the screens, and reaches out with Extremis to send his armour back to where he came from.

He sits in the swivel chair, leans back, closes his eyes, and gets to work.

He brings up the view from the cameras in Raft. Bypassing the security takes him barely seconds, and he tuts. They should’ve fixed that after the last breakout, but clearly they’re inviting danger. He browses the feeds until he finds Steve, locked in a solitary cell, what looks like laser bars keeping him inside. There’s a pair of heavy handcuffs designed to hold superhumans on his wrists. 

Tony nods to himself and keeps looking.

The guards pass by Steve’s cell every fifteen minutes. That’s nice, Tony thinks; if it were him planning the rotation, someone would be always in front of the cell. Don’t they know the concept of high breakout risk? Has SHIELD even noticed _Tony_ is gone? 

His armour alerts him as it reaches the Raft’s perimeter. 

_Disassemble_ , Tony sends a command. He takes stock of every part as they disconnect and hover on repulsor fields.

Tony frowns in focus. Boots and the gauntlets, that he can do, but he’d really prefer to send Steve the chestplate, as well. It’s a big piece of metal, though, as it needs to be sturdy, harder to break than something made of separate parts. He bites on his lip, considering, but in the end there’s nothing for it. The chestplate can’t be a part of his little operation. 

He scans the building to find the aircon outlets: even a high-tech prison needs those. He disables the air filters and alarms on the vents, and then orders the parts of his armour to fly in, unnoticed, until they reach a vent to Steve’s block of cells.

Tony waits until the guard passes by his cell, and loops the video for the security room. 

Switching off the lock on Steve’s cell is easy, after that.

Before Steve can move, Tony sends his armour forward, the boots and the gauntlets fitting themselves to Steve’s body. He couldn’t do it with any other model—they might be the same height, but Steve is bigger than Tony—but the Extremis armour is somewhat flexible. 

He sees a moment of surprise on Steve’s face before he recognises Tony’s tech and smiles. The next moment, the helmet fixes itself around Steve’s head.

“Miss me?” Tony asks.

“You’re a genius,” Steve answers breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Tony says, “so listen carefully. The full armour is outside the Raft. As soon as you step out, you’re basically bulletproof. But before that . . .”

He looks at the list of the current inmates and grins. He switches on the fire alarm in the block furthest from Steve, where Typhoid Mary is, and then kills the lights in the whole compound. The guards should have night vision goggles, but it’s better than nothing.

“Get to an elevator,” Tony says. “Kick in the doors—not literally, you have active repulsors—and fly up, high as you can. When you get to an above-ground level, go for the windows.”

“They’re reinforced,” Steve says, but he’s moving already. He’s surprisingly steady, flying in Tony’s repulsor boots and balancing with the gauntlets just the right way, but then he’s seen Tony do it a thousand times and he _is_ a supersoldier. Tony shouldn’t put anything beyond him.

“Not against Iron Man they aren’t,” Tony says grimly, and orders his chestplate higher. The unibeam won’t be at maximum power, but it will be strong enough. 

Steve follows Tony’s directions to the elevator shaft.

“Wait,” Tony says, turning on the unibeam. It doesn’t shatter the window, but it cracks it. Good enough. “Now go,” Tony says. “Repulsor it, kick it, whatever you want, just _get out_.”

Steve punches the window, his own terrible strength enhanced by the armour, and it shatters, the glass falling out into the waves underneath. He crawls through the space without any hesitation, and then he’s out, and Tony can finally, _finally_ , order the whole of his armour to wrap itself around Steve, sealing him in.

Keeping him safe.

“I’ll take it from here,” Tony tells him, taking the control of all the systems from Steve. He double checks if it’s still hidden from the radar, and then flies Steve—not home. But close enough.

He flies Steve to himself.

***

It was past midnight, and Steve and Tony were on the mansion roof. The stars weren’t really visible, but it was a warm night, made warmer by hot chocolate, and, more importantly, Steve’s proximity. 

“I’ve been wondering,” Steve said, and Tony turned to him. He forced himself to look away from Steve’s lips, kiss-swollen now, and look him in the eyes. Steve seemed calm, but his fingers were beating up a steady rhythm against Tony’s thigh. “I’m pretty sure it’s a bad idea,” Steve said.

“All the best ideas are,” Tony answered. “Look at us.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Look at us.”

They were lying on their sides, facing each other, close enough Tony could feel Steve’s breath on his face.

But there was something unsettling in Steve’s voice, almost like longing, and Tony’s heart tightened. He loved Steve so much, but—if he wanted to, he’d let him go. 

“This isn’t how I wanted to do it,” Steve continued, quietly. “It had to be ideal. But then, you are here, so it is.”

Tony looked at him, shaking his head without understanding. What was Steve getting at?

Steve stilled his fingers and put his hand in his pocket, then used his other hand to tilt Tony’s chin up. 

“I love you,” he said, and kissed Tony gently. It was all Tony could do to stay still and not climb on top of Steve. Something was happening here. Something important.

Steve pressed a small box against Tony’s chest. “Tony Stark, Iron Man,” he said, “will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?”

Tony gasped.

He couldn’t even take the ring box—for that was what it must’ve been—from Steve’s fingers. He leant in and kissed him, because he was pretty sure he couldn’t speak but he could _show_ Steve how much he loved him, and so he grabbed at Steve’s arm and held him tight and kissed him like his life depended on it.

“That’s not a _yes_ ,” Steve said when Tony had to pause to breathe.

“Yes, it fucking is,” Tony said, and kissed him again. “I will, Steve, Captain.”

***

He’s ordering the armour to disassemble almost before Steve’s set on ground, and Steve steps out, clearly tense. 

Tony doesn’t waste time feeling guilty: he wraps his arms around Steve and holds him tight, finally feeling for himself that he’s here, safe and sound. 

Steve takes his face in two hands and kisses him like a man drowning. “Tony,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says. “I’m sorry, I’m—”

Steve silences him with a finger on his mouth. “None of that.” He seems calm, but of course he’s not a newbie to breaking out from prison.

Tony, on the other hand . . .

Steve runs his thumb along Tony’s cheekbone. “Are you okay?” he asks. “This—this isn’t what you want.”

“You, safe with me?” Tony asks. “It’s exactly what I want.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve says. “You know what I mean. Life on a run . . . You’re a hero, not a villain.”

“And what’s the alternative?” Tony snaps.

Steve’s silent. 

He knows, as well as Tony does, that nothing will ever be the same again. Nothing will be like they _want_ it to be. Tony’s a futurist, and as far as he’s interested, the only way forward is with Steve. Everything else, they can figure out later. 

It hits him, finally: he’s exhausted. The adrenaline carried him here, but he’s barely out of the hospital, and he was too worried about Steve to really regenerate earlier. Extremis, much as Tony’s loathe to admit it, takes its toll on the body too. He can feel a headache brewing behind his eyes. He sags against Steve a bit, and Steve immediately brings him closer, supports him with a strong arm around Tony’s shoulders.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “How you got me out—it was amazing and also incredibly hot and I love you so much, Tony, and you need rest.”

Tony _wants_ to argue, but he knows Steve’s right.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Steve says. “We’ll plan, and we’ll survive.” 

“Together,” Tony mutters.

“Together,” Steve agrees, and then he scoops Tony up, bridal-style. 

Tony would protest, but really, there’s no point. He’s crashing, and he thinks he falls asleep against Steve’s chest even before they reach a bed. 

***

It turns out that Steve has a hideout in west Massachusetts, and so they go there, first by a stolen car, then trekking through the forest. Tony doesn’t want to risk anyone catching sight of the armour: he can’t shield it if he has to carry Steve with him. The hideout is an underground facility, well-lit once they reach the inside, with zero obvious identifiable markers. It’s not screened, which is both dangerous and a relief: Tony really doesn’t want to be cut off from Extremis now. 

“I never thought I’d learn of your hiding places this way,” Tony mutters.

“Yeah, when I finally tempted you into villainy in my dreams, it wasn’t like this either,” Steve deadpans. “In a way, this is harder to adapt to than waking up in this century. It is _you_ losing your home now.”

Tony shakes his head. “You can’t compare that.” He still has Steve, after all. 

Steve’s silent as Tony looks around, but the space is almost empty; Tony can’t focus on anything in particular. 

They go to bed early again that night, both still tired. The bed isn’t made for two people, but Steve silences Tony’s protests and pulls him on top of himself, locking his hands behind Tony’s back.

Tony falls asleep listening to Steve’s steady heartbeat, pretending nothing has changed at all. 

Six hours later, Steve heats up canned meal for their breakfast and Tony watches him from the bed, resting his head on his forearms. “We should make a plan,” he says. Steve doesn’t reply for a long while, until Tony finally looks up at him. "What?" he asks. 

"Just thinking." Steve leans on the wall, his eyes never leaving Tony. "If you wanted to, the world would be yours." 

"That's the problem, isn't it, then?" Tony asks. He gets up and paces along the wall, facing away from Steve. "I don't want the world. I only want you." 

"I'm yours." The words are expected, and Tony doesn't turn back. 

"For how long, Steve?" he asks. "How long can we run? The whole world is looking for us. I don't want to hide forever. Not even with you. I want us to be a ble to live something like a real life." 

"There is a solution to this problem," Steve mutters, quiet enough Tony's not sure the words are meant for him. 

He spins around anyway, grabs Steve by his arms. "What solution, Steve? Become a villain and take over the world like you just said?" He _can’t_ do that. He _could_ , he has the capability, but he _can’t_ , it’s not him. Not even for Steve.

"Ah, Mister Stark, but you're a villain already," Maria Hill says from behind Tony, and Tony feels like his blood freezes in his veins.

He doesn’t want to turn to her.

***

The weeks following their engagement were insane, and that meant something considering their _normal_ was defeating supervillains (or defeating superheroes, for Steve, Tony mused). They had answered more questions than either of them had felt necessary, with some of Tony’s faves being “Mister Rogers, aren’t you worried when Mister Stark is out being a superhero?”—Steve had just informed the journalist that being engaged changed nothing in that situation—and “Mister Stark, aren’t you worried that someone will attack Steve in retaliation?”—where Tony had had to stop himself from laughing and wishing luck to anyone who’d try and attack _Steve_. “I fear for the safety of anyone who’d try,” he’d finally said in a dark voice, and the journalist had assumed Tony had meant his own swift and cruel revenge.

Well. He wasn’t wrong, Tony thought now, waiting for Steve. If, unlikely as it was, something happened to Steve, Tony would scorch the Earth looking for answers.

A superhero probably shouldn’t think like that. Maybe Steve was rubbing off on him. 

Tony was in too good a mood to truly contemplate it, though. Carol was fixing his tie, and Tony knew that Jan was helping Steve in another room.

Beyond the doors, the rest of their friends waited, with Thor in the front and centre. (He’d gotten legally ordained just for them. They hadn’t even asked him; he’d just said Tony was his shield-brother, and Thor would be more than happy to officiate it. Tony was pretty sure he didn’t deserve friends like that.)

It wasn’t a _life-changing_ event, per se. That would have to be meeting Steve, or kissing him, or moving back in with him, Tony thought. This was just . . . a confirmation. They loved each other and they wanted to be together forever and they wanted the world to know. Like an afterthought. 

But there was a part of Tony which _liked_ ceremonies, and he liked that he’d get to swear his love for Steve to witnesses, that if he ever fucked up, he’d have this reminder, a golden ring on his hand and a memory of a wedding. Something to keep Tony straight, to think of when he wanted to drink, when things got _bad_. 

Carol poked him in the nose. He frowned at her. “What was that for?”

“Happy thoughts, Tony,” Carol said. “You get to celebrate your love.” She hugged him—lightly, so as not to wrinkle the suit. “I’m so happy you met someone like him,” she said. “You were made for each other.”

Tony smiled at that. “Yeah.” He remembered a body, half-frozen in the Arctic. “It still feels like a miracle.”

It _was_ a miracle. It felt unreal. He was never going to stop being grateful.

“Do you remember your vows?” Carol asked.

“Marvel,” he said in a mock-warning, “I might be stressed, but I am a genius.”

“Uh huh,” Carol said. “Well, I have them, I’ll be your prompter.”

“Where is Rhodey?” Tony asked, looking around. “Shouldn’t he be here to stop you torturing me?”

“I’m here to _help_ her, Tones,” Rhodey said, coming in. “I was checking up on your husband-to-be. No, nope, not telling you anything, you’ll see him yourself in a moment. Ready?”

He’d never be ready, Tony thought. Then again: he’d been ready for years.

He nodded, and Rhodey took his elbow and steered him outside. Thor was towering over the gathered people, but Tony only had eyes for Steve, leaving the door opposite him. 

Jarvis was leading Steve, because he was one of the few people who _knew_ and had been there when Tony had first found Steve, and he had to have a role; he was too important to Tony.

Tony almost tripped, but Rhodey held him steady. Steve was looking stunningly beautiful, and yeah, his white suit was great, but it was mostly his expression that Tony couldn’t get enough of: slightly surprised and overwhelmingly _happy_. 

Tony loved him.

And he was just in the place to say it. 

They stood before Thor, finally, and Tony had to stop himself from reaching out and hugging or kissing Steve immediately. 

Thor looked at them both. “I do not doubt your love for each other,” he said, “as I am certain, does no one here.” 

Tony’s hands were shaking. Rhodey passed him the ring for Steve and Tony was sure he’d drop it. 

“But tradition demands that I ask: do you, Steve Rog—”

“Yes,” Steve said, cutting Thor off mid-word. He didn’t seem to care, or to notice. “ _Yes_.”

Thor turned to look at Tony, and Tony had the vows, and he even remembered them, but he couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t say anything but “Yes, I do,” and fumble blindly for Steve’s hands, to slip the ring on his fingers.

He couldn’t remember how they managed to exchange the rings in their rush to _be together_ , and then Steve was kissing him, and Tony was kissing Steve, and everything was right with the world.

***

Maria Hill is surrounded by a group of highly trained SHIELD agents. Tony reaches out with Extremis, but he can’t feel _any_ tech on them, and that’s when he notices a woman behind all the agents—dark hair, long face, determined look.

Maya Hansen.

He’d never have expected her to . . . He should’ve, he thinks now. He put her in jail, after all. She has all the reasons to hate him. She doesn’t see Extremis as the danger he knows it is.

“Working with convicts now, Maria?” Tony asks lightly. Behind him, Steve’s tense, ready to fight. But he’s also half-naked, and his shield is at the far wall. Tony wills him to stay put. 

“You can’t throw stones, Stark,” Hill replies. 

“I know, I know, I’m a traitor, I’ve heard the speech before,” Tony interrupts her, scanning the room for any way out. He can still summon his armour, but he’s not sure he can do it fast enough before Steve or him get hurt. 

“I just can’t believe how much of a hypocrite you are, Tony,” Maya speaks up. “You told me _I_ was dangerous? Yet you married _the Captain_?”

“Is that jealousy?” Tony shots back. It’s not and he knows it, but he’s out of ideas, he needs to change this situation, and if getting Maya annoyed is the only reason, then so be it. 

“Miss Hansen, I haven’t designed a deadly virus that killed 99% of the test subjects, and changed most of the survivors into insane murderers,” Steve says calmly before she can reply. “If I were interested in _that_ kind of villainy, I would be asking _you_ for lessons.”

“I’m trying to save _lives_ ,” Maya grits out.

“Isn’t it what we all tell ourselves?” Steve asks. 

And then he _moves_.

He pulls Tony behind him in one smooth motion and steps forward.

“Don’t shoot!” Maria Hill yells at her agents, but Tony doesn’t even have time to get surprised at that, because someone _does_ shoot, or rather, someone _had_ shot, even before Steve started moving—

Tony watches in horror as Steve bends in half, and slowly slides to the ground, a trickle of blood quickly forming a puddle on the floor.

He must’ve seen the agent aiming—he must’ve covered Tony— _why_ —

Tony’s shaking. He reaches out to touch Steve, but Steve doesn’t react, there’s nothing, _nothing_ , and Tony doesn't consciously ask Extremis, but there it is, information sent straight into his brain, _no heartbeat detected._

No.

_No_.

“Stark,” Maria Hill says, slowly, quietly, approaching him as if he were a spooked animal. Maybe he is. Steve’s dead in front of him, and . . . 

_Become a villain and take over the world_ , he’d said and laughed it off, and rightly so, because it wouldn’t help him now. But there were worse things he could do.

Worse things, unforgivable things that could break the matter of the world, and that could fix _everything_. 

Tony straightens and looks straight at Maria. “Get out of my way,” he says, his armour flying to him. He’s keeping it low, barely above the ground, so they won’t notice it until it’s too late.

“I can’t do that, Stark.”

“One of your agents,” Tony drawls slowly, dangerously, “killed my husband. This is not a safe place to be. Out of my way, Hill.”

She hesitates, but stands her ground. “You’re in shock,” she says. “And that makes you dangerous.”

“You have no idea,” Tony says. “And for the record, Hill? I hid Steve from you, yes. But I had always been an Avenger.”

“And now?”

“And now you killed him,” Tony says, amazed how he can talk and he’s not a wrecked, sobbing ball—he must be running on anger and hatred and shock, “and there is no power on this Earth that will stop me from—avenging. Call me a villain, Hill, if you wish, but if you want to live, _run_.”

His armour reaches him, and in less then a second engulfs him. 

Maria Hill doesn’t run. Tony smiles grimly, and shoots everyone.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

He makes sure Maya is dead—Maya, whom he might’ve loved, in another life, Maya, who was so close and so important to him and who betrayed him—but she was the only person who could’ve tracked him now. And really, with Steve dead?

Nothing matters anymore. 

Tony breaks through the vent leading outside, and then he flies up, as fast as he can, breaking the barrier of sound. He flies, and he doesn’t think at all, passing over forests and roads and plains. Onwards, until he reaches his destination. 

He doesn’t think, not of how happy he was in the morning, wanted, but safe for the time being, in Steve’s arms.

He doesn’t think of the moment Steve pushed Tony behind him.

He doesn’t think of the night barely two days ago, both of them in their bed in the Tower, Steve moving in him, Tony whispering Steve’s name over and over.

He doesn’t think of Steve falling to the ground.

He doesn’t think of Steve bringing him coffee to his lab, he doesn’t think of making Steve’s uniforms, he doesn’t think of Steve sketching him, and he certainly doesn’t think of posing for Steve’s pictures, the sessions ending in kisses.

He doesn’t think of anything but his destination.

Most of all, he doesn’t think of Steve falling, and Extremis’ digital, inhuman information, _no heartbeat detected_.

Tony screams, but he’s in the armour, in the clouds over Midwestern United States, and who is there to hear?

He thinks he must be crying, but that’s wrong, because he’s thinking of his target only.

He can’t be shaking inside his suit, but he locks the joints anyway, but it doesn’t make any sense, because his eyes are on the road only.

He’ll get there soon. And everything will be all right. He’ll fix Steve and he’ll fix the world. 

It’ll be fine. It really will be fine.

And there it is: Nevada. Closer still.

Groom Lake, and the answers to all Tony’s now very temporary problems.

He slows down, and finally, finally he lands. He’s arrived. Everything will be fine.

He’s in Area 51.

***

He sheds the armour as he walks in. “Tony Stark,” he says, and the doors open, the biometric controls recognising him immediately. He doesn’t waste time looking at his other projects.

There’s only one thing of any worth to him currently in this place, and he’s heading straight for it. He steps into the elevator.

_Anthony Stark, brain waves match complete._

_Circulatory match complete._

_Cellular match complete._

He has half a mind to crack his own security with Extremis and make it go faster.

_Optic scan match complete._

_Dental records match complete._

_Skrull detection negative._

The elevator finally opens, setting him at the lowest level.

There’s only one thing there.

Tony walks to the safe and presses his hands to it.

_Fingerprints match complete._

The safe opens. Tony doesn’t even wait until it’s fully opened, he just reaches in and grabs the yellow gem into his hand.

He’s done it.

***

Awareness came suddenly; one moment there was darkness—and the next Tony was sitting up, gasping.

“I’m alive. I’ll be damned.”

Alive and _well_ , it seemed: he’d injected himself with Extremis when he was dying, and now he wasn’t even in pain. There was buzzing at the edge of his consciousness, and he reached for it instinctively. He could understand it, like an innate skill, the waves of networks around him, mobile coverage and the lab WiFi, and it was like flexing a new limb—

“Tony? Don’t try to move.” Maya’s voice, and Tony pushed away his new sense for the time being. He moved to stand up when another voice froze him in place.

“ _Stay still_.”

Tony swallowed, but stayed on the lab table, only turning his head to lock eyes with Steve—and it was _Steve_ and not _The Captain_ sitting next to Maya, pale and tired and clearly very mad. Tony could see it in how tense he was, almost vibrating with it, the way his eyes were set.

“What are you doing here?” Tony asked. The Captain was a known villain. Steve was a civilian. Neither of them should be there.

But it was a wrong question to ask.

“What am _I_ doing here,” Steve repeated quietly. “ _You_ almost died, _you_ injected yourself with an experimental virus, _you_ hid instead of—” He broke off. 

“Right, lovers spat can wait,” Maya interrupted. “Tony, I need to run tests—”

“No time,” Tony said. Not for the tests, nor for arguing with Steve at that moment. “I need to find Mallen—”

“Mallen’s dead,” Steve said very, very calmly.

Tony clutched the table’s edges so hard his knuckles went white. “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

“You were unconscious three days, Tony,” Maya said. “Mallen was found dead twelve hours after you injected yourself.”

_Found dead_. Beheaded, or had Steve tried for subtle and shot him?

Steve’s eyes held an unspoken challenge.

“Maya,” Tony said, “give us a moment.”

She opened her mouth to argue and he spoke over her, “I’ll let you run all the tests later.”

He wouldn’t. He’d call the police later. He’d ask just _how_ Extremis had gotten out. But first—first he had Steve to deal with.

“ _What were you thinking_?” Steve asked the moment they were alone.

“You said it yourself,” Tony interjected. “I almost died. It was the only choice.”

“You didn’t even call me—”

“Is _that_ what this is about?” Tony snapped. “ _Steve, honey, I’m bleeding out but I found a moment to use my phone before trying to do something about it_.”

He was being unfair and he knew it, but Steve shouldn’t be there, Steve was jeopardizing _everything_ , and he’d killed Mallen, and—

“I’m your _husband,_ ” Steve gritted out. “And if that doesn’t mean anything, you’re Iron Man. You have access to the best doctors. You didn’t have to test a supersoldier virus on yourself.”

Tony took a deep breath. He got up. Steve looked him up and down once, not a sign of heat in his gaze, before reaching for a lab coat.

Tony chuckled. _Let’s try it out_ , he thought, spreading his arms, letting the underarmour cover his skin.

Steve watched it, his face impassive.

“I was dying,” Tony said bluntly. “But I won’t lie to you and say that was the only reason I tried Extremis. I don’t know what Maya might’ve told you, but she doesn’t know how I reprogrammed it. As it stands, Steve, you’re the last person to judge me for trying to become _better_.”

“You didn’t have to try,” Steve said with a weird expression. He reached out, slowly, touched his fingers to Tony’s arm. The sensation was weird: Tony realised Steve wasn’t touching his skin, but he might as well have done for how real it felt. 

“I hate it when you risk so much,” Steve continued, and any reply Tony might’ve had to his previous statement flew away. He swallowed. He could’ve dealt with Steve’s anger. He never knew how to deal with _this_. 

He let Steve wrap his arms around him, and hugged him back.

***

Tony Stark straightens, holding the Reality Gem in his palm. 

The power is immense, and tempting, even more so than drinking. He feels like he’ll drown in it if he gives in, and that more than anything makes him want to do it.

But the Gem has a mind of its own, and if Tony succumbs, the Gem’s goal will not be Tony’s.

Tony closes his fingers around the Gem, and _wishes_.

He knows exactly what he wants to do. He wants to turn back time, but that’s not quite possible, not with this particular Gem.

So instead he makes it as if the last days never happened, as if it was some bug in the matrix. Nothing happened since Steve and Tony came back from Steve’s exhibition. It can just . . . Unhappen. Reality, unmade. 

And so it is.

Tony’s floating, nothing around him to anchor him, and he thinks he’s almost done, but there is something else, some little details . . . 

Yinsen’s kid. Gone.

The virus in Extremis. Gone.

He could change so much. He could make Steve a hero. He could make their lives so much easier.

He’s sick at the thought.

He lets the power leave him, opens his hand, and looks around. 

“Steve?” he calls.

“I’m showering!” Steve shouts back, and Tony could cry from the sheer relief. 

One more thing, then, and he closes his fingers back over the Gem, because if everything is like it used to be . . . 

The Gem is back in Tony’s compound in Area 51, safe, unavailable to anyone else.

He opens his eyes and sees it disappear. 

And then he slides to the ground, brings his knees closer to himself and hugs them, and he thinks he’s crying, but he can’t stop himself.

It’s dumb. Steve’s back. But Tony watched him die. 

“Tony?” Steve steps out of the bathroom. “Tony, what . . .” He kneels down next to Tony, wrapped in the towel but not dry, and he wraps his arms around him.

Tony leans into him blindly, feels for Steve’s strong arms, his neck, the rapid pulse in his artery, his cheek, hot and wet from the shower, his lips, and Steve just holds him like he’s delicate, like he could shatter, and for the first time, Tony isn’t annoyed at all.

He _feels_ shattered already.

“Steve,” he says, and, “Steve,” and Steve holds him close.

Later, when Tony calms down enough to speak, Steve looks at him worriedly.

“What happened?” he asks carefully.

“Nothing,” Tony says. “It was nothing.”

“ _Tony_.” He only says that, nothing else, but Tony knows what’s at the tip of his tongue. _You never cry like that_. _It can’t be nothing. It worries me_. 

But Tony doesn’t know what to tell him.

“Do you trust me?” Tony asks instead.

“Yes,” Steve says immediately.

“I’m fine,” Tony says. “We’re both fine. I promise I’d tell you if something were wrong.”

Steve nods after a long moment.

This night, Tony doesn’t sleep. He lies with Steve in his arms, and he counts his breaths and feels his heartbeats, and with every beat of Steve’s heart, he understands.

Steve’s really fine. He’s alive. Tony did it. Tony fixed everything.

Nothing happened, nothing at all.

***

Tony wakes up to Steve kissing him. He smiles, reaches for Steve and pulls him closer. Steve’s lips feel scorching hot against Tony’s, and Tony leans into him almost without thinking. 

“Wow,” Steve says. 

“Best wake up ever,” Tony agrees. 

Steve’s gaze wanders lower for a second. “Best? Guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

Tony stretches lazily. “You could try it now?” he suggests.

He hadn’t realised he’d fallen asleep. The horror of the past few days is still too fresh in the back of his mind, but this here, him and Steve, happy in bed together—this is enough to push it away. 

“Don’t you have work?” Steve asks sadly.

“You’re a villain,” Tony says, “you don’t get to remind me of SHIELD.” 

Steve just raises an eyebrow.

Tony gives up. “I called in sick,” he says, reaching out with Extremis to do exactly it. “Happy?” 

“No,” Steve says. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Tony says, annoyed. “I just—I really needed a day off with you. With all the stress lately . . .”

“Tony Stark, admitting to being stressed under the workload?” Steve asks. “Should I check if you’re a Skrull?”

_Skrull detection negative_ , Tony’s own systems told him a day before. A day that’s never been. 

“I’m fine,” Tony says, serious this time. “But I need this. Just you and me. Please?”

Steve’s frowning, as if he’s trying to find solve an equation and keeps getting to a division through zero, but finally he nods.

“Sure, Tony. You know I’m always happy when you can stay home. It’s just . . . rare.”

“I know,” Tony answers, “believe me, I know, and today, I want _you_.”

“Well,” Steve drawls in a low voice that’s making warmth pool low in Tony’s stomach. “How can I say no to that?”

He kisses Tony, on his smooth chest, the space where Extremis removed his multitude of scars, presses Tony down with his hands on Tony’s hips, licking down his stomach. Tony’s never been happier that he sleeps naked, and there isn’t any barrier between him and Steve at all.

Tony’s breath hitches when Steve licks past his navel.

Steve looks up, his eyes dark, his expression almost dangerous in the best way, and then he goes back to work, and presses more kisses to Tony’s lower abdomen. 

And lower still.

Tony arches up as Steve finally reaches him, and then he can’t think at all.

***

Later, Steve very carefully wipes them both off with damp warm towels, and crawls back into bed next to Tony. He hugs him, and keeps him in his arms.

Tony doesn’t say anything. His heartbeat slowly returns to normal, and he leans into Steve, breathing him in.

“I love you,” he says.

“You too,” Steve answers, like he always does, and it warms Tony even more now. 

He knows Steve hates being still, but he doesn’t leave Tony, just stays with him for hours. Tony thinks maybe they’ll be all right.

After all, nothing that he remembers has actually happened.

They get up at some point, and Steve makes pancakes—it’s afternoon by now, but Tony doesn’t protest, and anyway, it’s technically breakfast for them. First meal of the day and all that.

Tony lets himself settle back down, and relax, relax, relax. Forget the nightmare: for that is what it was. Tony remembers, but it had never happened. It was only a bad dream, Tony convinces himself, and can’t shake off the feeling that no, _that_ was reality. _This_ is a dream.

They eat the pancakes, or rather Tony clings to Steve and Steve feeds them both, and if he considers that weird, he doesn’t say.

“There’s a new Doctor Who episode tonight,” Tony says finally. 

Steve perks up. “The new series?” he makes sure.

“Yeah,” Tony says. He totally shares Steve’s enthusiasm. “I can’t wait to see her.”

They watch it, pressed together on the sofa, and it’s great, even if Tony keeps looking at Steve to check if he’s still there.

It’s dumb, an almost-unconscious movement, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop doing it anytime soon. 

Still. He’s feeling way better than the day before, and that’s what counts.

He goes to bed with Steve, and fucks him slowly, enjoying how Steve’s face changes, all the expressions and the trust and the love, and when it’s over, he slides out and collapses next to Steve and falls asleep almost immediately.

He wakes up to someone cleaning him up and pressing a calming kiss to his cheek, and drifts away again.

And then he wakes up alone, and Steve is gone.

Tony _panics_. He searches for him in the house with Extremis, but it’s empty, and Steve’s uniform is not there, and Tony’s halfway to his lab before he forces himself to sit down.

He exhales, slow and steady. Inhales for a count of five. Repeats it a few times until he stops feeling like he’s going to hyperventilate.

It’s nothing, he tells himself. Steve often leaves at night, and _of course_ he doesn’t tell Tony; Tony’s job would be to _stop him_. 

It’s not Steve who’s outside, it’s _the Captain_ , and whatever he’s attacking now, it’s none of Tony’s business. 

(Tony ignores that it is, in fact, his business. He should be out there, stopping Steve. The both of them know full well that it’ll never happen, just as Steve will never attack SHIELD again. Won’t scratch the Avengers. They make it work.)

_They make it work_ , Tony repeats, and so what he can remember Steve dying, _it never happened_. 

But he’s shaking, and he can’t calm down, so he heads to his lab anyway and powers up his computer and opens a project at random.

Then he just stays there, looking at the screen but unseeing, and waits for Steve to return.

_Please come back safe_. He sends a text with Extremis, and he shouldn’t have done even that much but now it’s too late to change it, so he just waits.

And waits, and thinks, and waits.

***

The first time Steve came home hurt, Tony panicked. 

He wasn’t new to first-aid and patching up his friends, of course, but it was the first time _Steve_ needed his help, and that was a whole different thing. 

“I’m fine,” Steve said, but Tony knew how many times he himself had insisted on that only to almost black out in a fight, so he paid Steve no mind and ushered him to the bathroom.

“Strip,” Tony said.

Steve chuckled, and then gasped in pain as his ribs clearly didn’t agree with him. Tony looked at him doubtfully. The side of Steve’s uniform was a darker black, and when Tony pressed his hand to it gently, it came away red. Moving clearly hurt him, and Tony was rather sure Steve wouldn’t be able to take off his suit on his own.

“Stay still,” he warned, taking a pair of scissors from the first aid kit. They were meant to cut bandages, not reinforced clothing, but it was Tony’s house, so he knew they would be sharp enough. 

“I need this uniform, you know,” Steve said as Tony cut through the front of it. 

“Not anymore,” Tony said, focused on his task. He didn’t want to hurt Steve. “I’ll make you a better one.”

“Should you do that?” Steve asked.

“Should I be helping you right now?” Tony shot back. 

“Point taken,” Steve said. He winced as Tony peeled the material off his skin, sticky with blood. Tony dropped it to the floor without care. The bathroom would be easy to clean, and the uniform would have to be burnt anyway. 

Tony gently guided Steve to sit on the railing of the bathtub, and then squatted next to him and gave him a careful once-over. The gash across Steve’s ribs was shallower than Tony had worried, just wide. But his arm was swollen in a way Tony didn’t like in the slightest. He could probably set it—he knew the method, at the very least, but he’d never applied it to someone so much physically stronger than him. Normally, he’d call Thor or Carol, but . . . Explaining this would be more than _difficult_. 

The cut on Steve’s ribs was still bleeding sluggishly, so Tony set to dressing it first. He put on sterile gloves and pressed a piece of gauze to it with both hands. Steve hissed.

“I’m sorry,” Tony muttered. He couldn’t ever be a doctor, he thought; the amount of guilt at causing Steve more pain right now said that clearly. Tony didn’t waver, though, kept on a steady pressure, and after a few minutes, the bleeding seemed to stop. 

Tony changed his gloves. He gently washed Steve’s skin, hoping the cut wouldn’t start bleeding again. He dried him off with a bit of clean bandage, and discarded those gloves as well. Steve probably couldn’t get infected, but better safe than sorry.

Finally, in yet another pair of gloves, Tony covered the wound with a sterile bandage, and taped it in place.

“All done,” he said, getting to his feet. He hoped his face didn’t show how shaken he was truly feeling. 

Sure, Steve was a villain, he got into as many—if not more—dangerous situations as Tony. But he was _Captain America_ , or he had been. He was a supersoldier. He shouldn’t be hurt, even in such a minor way.

“You’re good at that,” Steve noted. 

“Job description,” Tony muttered.

“Ah,” Steve said. “They must make you take many first aid courses as a rich CEO.”

Tony laughed. “You’d be surprised,” he said. At least he begged off the actual courses on the promise of passing a test every year. “Okay, jokes are jokes, but I don’t like how your arm is looking.”

Steve pouted. “I thought you liked all of me.” 

Tony was glad Steve could still act like this, but he could also see how ashen his skin was. He must have been in pain. 

Tony washed his hands of any remnants of Steve’s blood. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

“Tony,” Steve said, not moving.

“Yes?”

“I might hurt you if you try to fix my shoulder.”

“Ah, so you hope it’ll get better on its own?” Tony asked snappishly. “I’m a superhero, Mister Rogers, I think I can handle you.”

Steve just raised his eyebrows, but followed Tony to their bedroom. Tony put a soft towel on the bed before helping Steve lie down.

Tony meant to tell him to relax, but this was Steve, and he knew what to do. Tony watched as he breathed in and out in a rhythm, forcing his muscles to unwind. The control he had over his body, even in pain, was amazing. 

Tony slowly run his hand down Steve’s chest in comfort, and Steve relaxed further. It made Tony smile despite himself. 

Steve extended his arm to his left, and Tony took his cue. He grabbed his wrist and pulled on it. Steve winced, but Tony told himself to keep going. Steve was strongly built, and it was difficult, but after a moment there was a loud pop sound, and Steve sagged in relief. Tony slid to the floor next to the bed. 

“I’m building you an armour next time,” he promised.

Steve reached out with his uninjured hand and ran it through Tony’s hair. “No you’re not. But thank you.”

“I hate this.” Tony leant his head against the bed. “That you’re out there, fighting—and I can’t help you.”

Steve was silent for a long while, not saying the obvious.

If they ever were on the same battlefield, they wouldn’t be on the same side.

“I love you,” Tony whispered. “I can’t lose you.”

“I heal fast,” Steve said. “And I love you too.”

***

Tony’s turning around on his swivel chair, unsure of what to do. He’d like to say that spinning like this helps him think, but it doesn’t, quite the contrary—but then, _not_ thinking is just what he needs right now.

Steve can’t know about the Reality Gem. About what Tony did. Steve can _never_ know.

Except Steve’s standing against the wall of Tony’s lab, watching him with concern clear on his face. Tony didn’t notice him returning, but he’s not alarmed. It’s _Steve_. He’s still in his uniform, and that’s rare; Tony might design them, but Steve usually changes back into soft clothes as soon as he’s home. But tonight he didn’t. He came straight to find Tony. Tony knows why, he just . . . Wishes it weren’t necessary, wishes he could act like nothing has changed. Absently, he thinks he’s done a good job on this uniform. Bulletproof and weatherproof, it should keep Steve warm in icy conditions, and cool when it’s too warm. It’s fire-resistant, too, and basically as much of an armour as Tony could create with actual fabrics and not hard metal. 

_And_ Steve looks good in it. 

Except Tony can’t quite focus on that right now, and yeah, Tony’s really not okay, is he?

“Will you talk to me?” Steve asks quietly. Like he thinks Tony’s lying to him. Like he’s hurt by it.

Because Tony _is_ lying to him. And to himself. Tony’s not sure who he is anymore. 

He killed people because they were in his way. He killed people in revenge. He killed _Maya_. They’re all alive now, of course—Tony checked—and he _knew_ they would be fine once the world was back to normal, but . . . He hadn’t thought he was capable of that. Does Steve know that about him? Would he like it, or would he be scared by it? 

Steve was dead. Tony can’t close his eyes anymore without seeing his body bleeding out.

Steve’s hand is at Tony’s arm, suddenly, and only now does Tony notice that he started shivering. He’s more out of it than he realised. He wonders if he’s ever going to be okay again.

Maybe he should wipe his own memory, and then, finally, they could go on. It’s tempting, an opportunity to not remember Steve dying . . . Maybe with Extremis . . .

“Tony,” Steve says again. “I love you. Nothing can change that. _Talk to me_.”

Tony looks at him, and swallows. 

Steve can’t know. Tony can’t deal with it—so how would _Steve_ feel? But . . . Tony can offer half of a truth, instead. 

“After our last date,” Tony starts, his voice low, “do you remember what happened?”

“Of course,” Steve says. “And it was _fun_.” He watches Tony’s face and must find something he doesn’t like, because he sighs. “What happened, Tony?”

Tony swallows. He fists his hands and he digs his nails into his palms, hard. The pain does nothing to distract him from the memory of Steve, dead on the floor.

“You—there was a fight,” he says. “You wanted to help me.” He stops.

Steve’s face is expressionless. “Go on.”

“It was—it was hard. Not the Hulk, but close. Very close.” Tony closes his eyes. “The Avengers were there, but they were beaten, and I ordered SHIELD not to interfere—the human agents didn’t have a chance . . .”

“But you did,” Steve says.

Tony shrugs. “I’m a hero. It’s my job.”

Steve smiles at him softly. “You don’t do it because it’s your _job_ ,” he says. “What happened then, Tony?”

He doesn’t ask what Tony is talking about, even though Steve clearly doesn’t remember any of this, he just listens. That might be the worst part.

Tony’s breath hitches. “Like I said. It was hard. I didn’t know what to do. And then, it, it, that monster—he caught you.”

Steve nods.

“I couldn’t stop him,” Tony whispers. “Not with the firepower in my armour. So—I overloaded the unibeam. Gave myself a heart attack”—and here Steve’s expression changes suddenly, but Tony continues anyway—“and stopped it.”

Steve’s breathing heavily now. “Never,” he says. “ _Never_ endanger yourself like that, Tony. Not for me. Not for anything.”

Tony huffs an empty laugh. “You know I can’t promise you that.”

Steve takes Tony’s chin in two fingers. “Tony. And—this is hypothetical. I still don’t know what you’re talking about. But if it happened. If I survived, and you didn’t. What do you think I would do?”

Tony looks away. Steve doesn’t understand. He’s strong, he—he could move on. He could live. 

Tony couldn’t. He’s always known that, and now he has the fucking proof.

“I can’t live without you, Tony,” Steve whispers, and Tony shakes his head.

“No,” he corrects. “I can’t live without you, Steve.”

They look at each other in silence for a while, then Steve sighs. “Continue.”

“I woke up in the hospital,” Tony says quietly. “Chained to a bed. Less fun than when you do it to me, let me tell you.” Steve doesn’t smile, so Tony forces himself to go on. “A SHIELD agent was guarding me.”

“Tony . . .”

“I was a traitor, you see,” Tony continues, oddly calm now. “Director of SHIELD, harbouring the enemy.”

He looks Steve straight in the eyes. “I almost killed myself to save you, but I was too late. You were unconscious, and SHIELD arrested you, and found out your identity.”

Steve’s fingers on Tony’s arm tighten briefly, but he keeps silent. 

“It was the end,” Tony says. “The world coming down on me. And I wasn’t prepared to lose you like that.”

Steve swallows. “I would run for the rest of my life, if you were with me.”

“It’s easy to say that,” Tony answers. “It’s easy to consider _what ifs_. Theoretical scenarios. I do it for a living. I _wasn’t_ prepared for that. I will _never_ be prepared for that.” He exhales. “I’m a public person, Steve. I’ve been one my whole life, and it’s worse now that I’m Director of SHIELD. They would never let us disappear.”

“We’ve always known that,” Steve says carefully. 

“But I’ve _lived_ it.” He knows how it ends, with Steve’s body hitting the floor.

“It’s impossible, what you’re saying.” Steve’s got that look on his face that he gets moments before throwing his shield. An attack that leaves him unprotected. “But you believe it. I can tell as much.”

Tony shakes his head in frustration. “Do you think a telepath played a joke on me?” he asks, letting annoyance wash off his worry. “Because—”

“No,” Steve cuts in. “I believe you. But you haven’t told me everything yet.”

Tony will never tell him everything.

“I—” He hesitates. The words are heavy, clumsy on his tongue. “I fixed it.”

“You don’t fix something like this.” Steve’s tone is matter-of-factly.

“I’m an engineer, I fix everything.” _Except himself_. Tony sighs. “I deleted everyone’s memory.”

Steve’s face goes very, very blank. 

Tony’s looking at him, expectant. It’s a lie, but a clever one, not far from truth. It’s a solution to all their problems. Steve should be relieved.

Why isn’t Steve relieved?

“Everyone’s,” Steve repeats at last. 

“It’s like it never happened,” Tony confirms. Which is the truth. 

Steve moves away from Tony, a step, two. “And you call _me_ a villain,” he says.

Tony recoils as if hit. “Steve, I—I fixed us. What are you—”

“How many people on this planet, Tony? And you just—reached into their minds and remade them to fit your vision? Because, what, because what was _always_ waiting for us—”

_Because you died._

“I lie for you every single day,” Tony snaps. He can’t deal with this, he can’t deal with the look in Steve’s eyes, with his accusatory words—when all Tony did was the only thing he could’ve done to save them. If this is Steve’s reaction to Tony’s gentle lie, what would he say if he knew the truth? “How is this any different?”

“The very fact that you need to ask shows me you’re not the man I thought you were,” Steve says slowly. “How can you commit such a deed and be okay with it?” His eyes narrow. “Was it even the first time you’ve done something like that?” 

“ _Yes_ , Steve, I—”

“And how can I know that?” Steve cuts him off again. “You deleted _my_ memories, too? I love you, and I live with you, and this is my choice, Tony. I know the consequences. You don’t get to _decide for me_. Would you even have told me?”

“I’m telling you now!” 

“But not because you wanted to.” Steve sounds different. Cold. Distancing himself. 

It’s okay, Tony tells himself. It’s fine. Steve’s alive. If he’s mad at Tony, that’s fine, just as long as he’s there.

“I can’t do this.” Steve doesn’t throw his arms up, doesn’t raise his voice, he just looks at Tony steadily, his face closed off. “There are boundaries you _don’t_ cross, Tony.”

“And what would _you_ know about that?” Tony snarls. He regrets the words as soon as he speaks them, because he knows Steve, he knows Steve isn’t, well, _evil_ , but . . .

“More than you do, clearly,” Steve answers. He tilts his head, opens his mouth as if to say something, but in the end, he just turns away.

“Steve—”

But Steve can move very fast when he wants to, and in the next moment, he’s gone, and Tony is alone in his lab.

Is that the price, he wonders; that he saved Steve’s life but lost him with a lie?

The more rational part of Tony says, _he needs time, he’ll be back soon_ , but he can’t help thinking, _what if that’s it, what if we’re done, what if Steve is just gone? Not from the world but from this part of it, the part here, where there’s together?_

Tony punches the wall, hard. The skin over his knuckles breaks, and it hurts, but Extremis will patch him up in no time, and the physical pain helps. It’s better to focus on that than on anything else.

Alcohol would be a better distraction, but there isn’t a single drop in their apartment. Tony usually is grateful for that. (Then again, usually Steve is there, ready to hold Tony in his arms and talk him through the darker episodes).

Tony wants to drink now, and that scares him, the certainty that if he had to face this temptation tonight, he would lose. 

It’s the only thing he’s got left.

He’s breathing too fast. He can’t do this. He can’t stay here. He can’t go out, too scared that his legs will lead him to an off-licence. 

He needs Steve. He can’t do this alone. He doesn’t _want_ to.

But he can’t have Steve, so he does the only thing he fears only slightly less than drinking, and he suits up and flies to the helicarrier.

***

Tony stood in the middle of his lab and finally ordered the armour to disassemble. He’d need to get it cleaned. It was covered in ash and after hours of heavy-lifting, dirt was getting into every crevice of it. He sagged once it couldn’t hold him up any longer, but then Steve wrapped his arms tight around him, keeping him steady.

When Tony fought villains and came home fresh from the battle, he was usually still high on adrenaline. When he trained in the armour, he ached in the pleasant way, as after every work-out. 

Now, all he could feel was bone-deep exhaustion, desperation—and fear. 

Stamford had been, in one word, _hell_. The ruins of the school had looked almost surreal, like something that was too wrong to be true. Except it was, and Tony had helped turn every stone to find any survivors—but most of what they had discovered were bodies.

Hundreds of kids, killed because of one madman and a group of irresponsible _heroes_.

And it wouldn’t end there.

Tony had seen the plans for the Superhero Registration Act, months, even years before. He knew now was when it became reality. He knew now was when he would have to act, work it into something both baseline humans and superpowered individuals could agree on.

And he didn’t know how to do that, not now, not after seeing parents scream and cry and, maybe the worst of all, still hope their kid was safe. Not after the whole day that he’d spent at the school that became a graveyard.

He’d missed Steve so much, today, and he’d felt so selfish, wanting comfort when others lost everything.

But he was back home now, and Steve was there for him.

“Come on,” Steve said. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“I have to shower,” Tony muttered. He was sweaty and he felt as if the smoke clung to his skin, even though he’d been armoured the whole time.

“Let’s shower, then,” Steve agreed easily. Only then did Tony notice that Steve was wearing his uniform pants, that he was somehow _too_ calm for what had happened.

Tony tensed in his arms. “ _Steve_ ,” he said.

Steve must’ve read the question in his voice, even though Tony _never_ asked what he did.

“What did you expect me to do?” Steve said, because it clearly wasn’t a question.

“He should’ve gotten a trial,” Tony said, feeling empty. “A trial and a sentence and—”

“And what, _justice_?” Steve mocked. “So he’d escape his cell again?”

Tony didn’t answer, but he didn’t push Steve away, either; he just closed his eyes and used Extremis to browse for Nitro. He’d blocked everything related to the catastrophe, earlier that day; alert after alert popping up had only served to distract him when he was at the place of the explosion and could see everything with his own eyes.

Now there was more, on the secure SHIELD server that he shouldn’t be able to access, news not yet released to the public: the Captain dealing out his own kind of punishment—Nitro, beheaded.

Tony didn’t know what to say. He tried anyway. “Steve—”

“If these _New Warriors_ had killed him first, none of this would’ve happened,” Steve interrupted before Tony could say anything else.

Something about his voice now made Tony take a step back from him, put some distance between them so he could look Steve in the face.

“You _won’t_ go after them,” Tony said.

Nitro, he could understand. He could make excuses. But the New Warriors, stupid and irresponsible as they were—they were kids themselves.

Steve’s eyes were terrifyingly cold. 

“ _Promise me_ ,” Tony said. “We _will_ deal with them, we’ll deal with it _all—_ ”

“I’m a villain,” Steve said, quietly. “I know what I do. What responsibility do you _heroes_ face for your actions?”

Tony thought of SHRA again, unacceptable in its current form, but still necessary. He knew Steve was right. This, now, was a high-profile catastrophe. There would be justice, there would be solutions. But they needed to _stop_ things like Stamford from ever happening again—and smaller things, too, they needed to know who was out there, using super-powers, and they needed to make sure these people had proper training. “I know,” Tony said very slowly. “And it will change.”

Steve’s expression softened. He nodded. “Very well,” he said, and after a break, “I promise.”

Any other day, Tony would’ve felt something at the clear display of trust here, at how Tony’s word was enough for Steve, but now he just felt relief that Steve agreed, that they don’t have to argue. He stepped into Steve’s space again, leaning his forehead on Steve’s.

A quiet voice at the back of his head told him he should argue more, that he should try and make Steve _see_ that Tony was right, not just promise to listen to him this time. It reminded him Steve had just killed a man in vengeance, and it wasn’t the first time. That he was an avenger, and not in the acceptable way.

But Tony couldn’t make himself care about any of that, because it was Steve, and Steve still had rules, and he was safety and home and comfort, and Tony loved him.

***

For a few days, this is Tony’s life.

He goes to the helicarrier, all armoured-up, he dodges Maria Hill’s questions, he gets to work. He goes through paperwork, he runs operations, he tries to stop himself from taking part in any missions. 

He doesn’t _blame_ Hill. He knows she was just doing her job. He should be happy, really, that his second-in-command has moral rules that she’s not gonna cross for anyone. He still can’t quite shake the fear at the back of his head, that moment when Maria Hill had found him and Steve, and the agent’s shot

Shot without Hill’s order, Tony remembers, and that’s the only part not matching the puzzle; why did Hill tell them to hold fire?

He shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about it.

He wants to find Steve, but he doesn’t want to _actively_ search for him. It has to be Steve’s decision to be found. And Steve knows Tony entirely too well anyway and can avoid him for some time, even with Extremis. Tony’s not even really annoyed at that: more than anything, he wants Steve to come back. He wants them to talk and make up—and make out, too, hopefully—and he wants them to be together.

He’s worried, not knowing where Steve is. 

“Director.”

Tony looks up and winces. “Yes, Sub-director Hill?”

“You’ve been on board for 48 hours straight.” She crosses her arms. 

“That a problem?” Tony asks.

“If you haven’t slept, then yes, it is a problem, Director Stark,” she enunciates slowly. “Dugan is worried, and frankly, so am I.”

“I won’t endanger a mission,” Tony promises. 

“No, because—” 

An alarm at the helicarrier cuts her off, and Tony gets to his feet with a curse. “Status,” he barks into his comm. 

“The Captain just attacked our facility north of Philadelphia,” one of the agents in the control room says. 

_Fuck_.

“I got it,” Tony says.

“Director, you—” Maria Hill starts to argue.

Tony turns on her. “He’s a supervillain. You _know_ he stole my tech, so he’s my responsibility. He’s dangerous, and I won’t put my agents—”

“This is a military organisation—”

“And this is an order, Hill,” Tony snaps.

He runs to the deck, and takes off, flying straight for the facility—a weapon storage. Not something he’s too happy with, but sometimes necessary. What is Steve doing there?

Sending a message, obviously. But of what kind? 

Tony wills his armour to fly faster. He needs to see Steve. Needs to talk to him, to explain, to—to bloody apologize if that’s what Steve wants.

But when he reaches his destination, the only thing left is a smoking crater where the facility used to be. Tony turns around. He feels sick when he realises there are body parts thrown around, charred from the explosion. Remnants of the weapons.

_No_. Steve couldn’t have done it. This is not Steve’s style at all, this mindless destruction—

Tony remembers his earlier predictions.

It’s certainly one hell of a message, but he still has no idea what it means.

_Hill, send me agents to secure the perimeter_ , he sends with Extremis. He scans the crater with his armour, but doesn’t see any life signs. Everything’s gone: both the weapons SHIELD stored here, and all the guards.

But the security recording Tony had gotten earlier is still on their servers, and Tony rewatches it over and over, trying to find any clues that it’s not Steve.

But no matter how he twists it, he knows it’s his husband strolling idly inside.

***

There’s a prize on Steve’s head, and it’s a big one. All of SHIELD is on high alert. Tony can’t blame them. So is he.

He can’t help but think that it’s his fault. That something snapped in Steve because of Tony’s confession. As if Tony was supposed to be his moral compass, and failed at it.

Tony should have never been _anyone_ ’s moral compass, with all the decisions he’s had to make. _Lesser evil_ , and who cares about the cost? Tony doesn’t believe in souls, but if he did, he’d know that he sold his a long, long time ago.

Maybe it’s all catching up with him. Maybe that’s why.

Carol’s leaning against his desk on the helicarrier. “You’re blaming yourself,” she notices. “Why?”

“He has my tech,” Tony says, the same not-quite-lie he’s been telling everyone for days. 

She sighs, but doesn’t try to argue: she knows him far too well for that. 

“I sent Steve away,” Tony says quietly. “He’s with Jarvis. They should be safe where they are, but . . . I miss them.” He doesn’t like lying to his friends, but he’s very skilled in it. Steve was right. Tony was never a hero. 

Carol squeezes his arm in silent comfort. 

“The Avengers are on high alert,” she says.

“Thanks,” Tony says. He doesn’t want them to fight the Captain. Steve is his responsibility. But so are his agents, and they’re in no way matched to go up against him. 

Then again, if Carol found herself fighting Steve . . . Tony isn’t sure what he’d do. 

He should’ve listened when Steve told him the first time. _You could take over the world. You have the ability._

He shakes his head. He can’t go there again. Going there is what got them in this mess in the first place.

He presses his hand to his chest. He’s in full armour, so he can’t really feel it, but there, over his chest, is his wedding ring on a chain. He doesn’t know if Steve still has his, but Tony will never take his off. Not unless Steve tells him to. 

He’s exhausted. He can’t sleep.

He turns to scanners again, and tries to catch a supersoldier signature.

***

Tony set the folder down on the table with a loud _thump_. There were red letters stamped across the cover, TOP SECRET, but this wasn’t something he could—or wanted to, for that matter—keep from Steve.

SHIELD’s logo was on it, too, and Tony focused his eyes on it until everything else in his field of view went blurry.

Steve snapped it then, setting it in front of himself instead, but not opening it. He’d already known what it said, obviously.

“I’m not a politician,” Tony said.

Steve raised his eyebrow.

“I’m not,” Tony insisted.

Steve kept glaring at him.

“Fine,” Tony said. “But I hate it.”

“You’re good at it,” Steve noted.

“I’m good at _everything_ ,” Tony drawled before growing serious again. “But this . . .”

“Technically, SHIELD is a military organisation,” Steve said. “You’d be more like a general.”

“Right, because everything about me screams _military man_.” Tony winced. He looked closer at Steve. “Why aren’t you trying to talk me out of this?” 

Steve chuckled. “You don’t think I might have a hidden agenda in wanting my husband to be the director of SHIELD?” he asked.

“Not really, no.”

Steve sighed. He reached to hold Tony’s hand between his, resting one of his fingers on Tony’s wedding ring. “You’ll hate it,” he said. “You hate it already.”

Tony nodded miserably.

“But I’m not sure why we’re even having this conversation, Tony,” Steve continued. “You’ve clearly already decided you’re going to do it.”

“And you’re okay with it?” Tony asked quietly.

Steve snorted. “As if me not being okay would change your mind.” He leant forward. “And I’m not okay with you making yourself feel miserable, Tony. I’m not. But . . . “

“But you agree with SHRA,” Tony finished for him. “Now _that_ is unexpected.” 

But it wasn’t, not really. He didn’t agree with Steve, but he could to a point see what motivated him. Steve didn’t like people overusing their power. Tony knew Steve had been as shaken by Stamford as everyone else. Had seen it first-hand.

“Not exactly,” Steve said. “But I don’t like chaos.”

And chaos it would be, if Tony refused the position, if they had to find someone else, someone who couldn’t tread on both sides like Tony did, a superhero without superpowers. Tony thought of who he could trust with a database of all his friends’ identities. The list was woefully short, and no one on it would agree to lead SHIELD, too. 

“And,” Steve added, “I trust you.”

Steve was right. Tony _had_ already decided. It was good, he supposed, that his husband didn’t hate the decision—but it would be such a dangerous position. A hero married to a villain was one thing, and he dreaded to think what would happen if anyone found out, but the director of SHIELD? That was unthinkable.

But he’d do it, because he knew no one else could.

“Hey,” Steve said. He slid his hand up to Tony’s elbow, reassuring. “You’ll be great. But if it gets bad—we can always run away. I have some nice hideouts.”

“In volcanoes?” Tony asked hopefully, glad that Steve steered the—important, so very important, and yet terrifying, life-changing for both of them—conversation back to easy banter.

“I guess you’ll have to see,” Steve answered, and kissed him gently.

***

Tony gets the alert at three in the morning. He’s not asleep, he hasn’t slept in days, but he is tired and out of it. The jolt of adrenaline he feels at having a match for Steve wakes him up, though, and he’s flying towards the coordinates without further thought.

He doesn’t alert anyone else. Steve is _his_ problem and always has been.

Steve’s in Stamford, of all places. There’s still nothing built on the ruins of the school, not even a memorial. Tony doesn’t know why Steve picked that spot. Because this is where it had started, the catastrophe that led to Tony becoming the Director of SHIELD? Or is the reason more immediate, is it because Tony had made Steve promise he wouldn’t go after the New Warriors? That’s why Steve is a villain, after all: because his sense of justice is more immediate and cruel than that of most people. And Steve never backs away.

When Tony touches down, Steve’s there, alone.

“Captain,” Tony says.

“Iron Man,” Steve answers. He tilts his head. “Are you going to hide behind the mask, Director Stark?”

Tony opens the faceplate without a word. Steve’s eyes widen at the sight of him, but he doesn’t comment, and for a few long moments, they’re just facing each other. Tony longs to touch him, but he knows he can’t. Not yet, and if this goes wrong, then maybe not ever. So he looks instead.

Steve doesn’t seem injured. A quick scan with Extremis confirms that. He is pale, though, and he doesn’t seem happy. That makes two of them.

“Why are you here?” Steve asks.

“I want to talk,” Tony says. He’ll beg Steve if that’s what it takes.

“Talk,” Steve repeats, disdainful. “Very well.” He extends his hand. “Let’s talk.”

Tony lets out a breath of relief. If only Steve listens to him . . . Tony shakes the offered hand.

And then pain explodes in his every cell.

When he comes to, he’s on his knees, breathing hard, everything still hurting. He tries to move, but the armour is heavy around him, and he can’t access his systems.

EMP, he understands. _Steve_ has just used an EMP on him. 

Tony wants to cry.

He looks up with some difficulty, and Steve seems frozen, his hand half-extended. 

“I really wanted to _talk_ ,” Tony whispers, hurt beyond measure, none of it physical. 

Steve shakes himself, his face hardening again. “Is this an issue?” he asks. “Aren’t you just going to make us all _forget_ we ever disagreed?”

“That’s not fair, Steve,” Tony whispers.

“Don’t talk to me about fair!” Steve yells.

Tony tries to stand up, but it feels like his body is on fire, and his headache makes it hard for him to see, the Extremis still gone. He falls again. It doesn’t hurt more when he hits the ground, maybe because the armour is still protecting him, dead weight that it may be, or maybe because it _can’t_ hurt more, not when all he can process is pain, Steve’s betrayal and a feeling like someone ripped one of his limbs off where Extremis should be.

Something flickers across Steve’s face, like worry.

“You got him good, Captain!” someone yells, and Tony feels like he’s missing something. A puzzle piece he can’t quite slot into place. There’s definitely worry on Steve’s face now, but Tony can’t move, can’t look around. 

“Back off,” Steve growls. “He’s mine.”

“He hurt us all plenty,” a new voice argues.

Steve hurls his shield without any warning; there’s a thump and a crunch of breaking bone, and something thuds to the ground. “Anyone else?” he asks calmly. 

Tony raises his head enough to notice Venom standing on the opposite side of the street, and someone down—is Steve _defending_ him? After . . . ?

Steve looks down at Tony. His face is disdainful again, but he whispers, urgently, “Call backup.”

Tony wants to laugh. Steve fried all his systems. He can’t . . .

There’s a sound like a sonic boom, and someone scoops him up. For the briefest moment, Steve looks relieved.

Tony doesn’t remember anything else.

***

He wakes up in the hospital, and panics.

He sits up, reaches for his forehead—and his wrists are free, Extremis is back up, and there’s no guard in the room.

He falls back down against the pillows. He tries to remember. Steve . . . the EMP . . . Tony hadn’t expected this kind of betrayal, and it hurts to think of it, even if he no longer hurts physically. And Steve’s behaviour, as if he hadn’t meant to hurt Tony. It made no sense.

“Hi,” Carol says.

Tony turns to see her entering the room. The sonic boom from before he blacked out. “You rescued me,” he says.

“From a villain who seemed really hell-bent on _protecting_ you,” Carol says quietly. She hesitates, then she moves the chair so that it blocks the doorknob. 

Tony raises his eyebrows. “Should I be worried?”

“No if you tell me the truth,” Carol says, sitting at the edge of his bed. “I’ve always wondered just how Steve was so fit.”

Tony closes his eyes. “Don’t,” he asks.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Her tone is gentle.

Tony considers lying. Considers flying to Area 51 again, using the Gem again—and then what, lying to Steve for the rest of their lives? How far does it go?

In the end he only nods.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I won’t tell anyone.” Tony looks at her in shock, but she continues talking. “You’re my best friend. You love him. He quite obviously loves you, but I won’t pretend I have any idea how _that_ works.” She sighs. “But you should do something about it, Tony, before it’s too late for either one of you.”

“I’m trying,” Tony whispers.

Carol holds his hand.

***

Tony swallowed a mouthful of noodles before talking.

“For the last time,” he said, “you’re not going with me.”

Steve glared at him over his own, empty by now, plate. “For the last time,” he replied, “I am not letting you go there alone.”

“I won’t be alone,” Tony said, feeling his nerves fray. “There’s a SHIELD team—”

“My point exactly,” Steve interjected, leaning against the table.

Tony looked at him steadily. “Officially, you’re a _painter_ , Steve. I’m not taking a civilian with me to bloody Madripoor.”

The table creaked where Steve holding it. Tony raised an eyebrow, pointing at it. _I’m not renovating again_.

Steve visibly forced himself to relax. 

“Being a civilian in Madripoor is better than being a fucking superhero,” he said, enunciating each word. “What, do you think anyone would buy you’re there as Stark International CEO and not the Director—” He cut himself off, looking at Tony carefully.

Tony looked away, briefly, but it was enough for Steve. He really knew him too well.

“ _Tony_.”

“I have Extremis,” Tony said. “I’ll be fine.”

“ _Tony_.”

“You know you can’t go with me,” Tony said. “And, Steve, we disagree on some pretty fundamental things. I look the other way all the time, _because I love you_. But you don’t get to be a villain and then complain you can’t help me in my work, which coincidentally is _catching the villains_.”

“ _Right_ ,” Steve said. “Go ask to be killed in name of some _rules_ —”

“ _It’s my job_ ,” Tony snapped, and he didn’t mean leading SHIELD at all. “It was yours, once, too.”

He knew he’d made a mistake the moment the words left his mouth. Steve’s face closed off, his eyes cold and almost foreign; he nodded sharply, and then he was out, before Tony could say anything else.

They’d talk when he was back, Tony told himself. When he stopped whatever was going on in Madripoor with interdimensional portals, when he saved the world again, when he could afford to stay at home for a full night and just be there with Steve.

The mission in Madripoor went . . . worse than expected. He found himself on his knees, unable to use Extremis to either call his armour or back-up, with Kashmir Vennema raising her sword above him. 

The hit never came: instead, the sword stopped on a perfectly round shield with a metallic sound. A part of him wasn’t even surprised: had he really thought Steve wouldn’t follow him?

“Run,” Steve ordered him, and Tony did.

They didn’t talk about it. Tony filled in his report at home, his feet in Steve’s lap as he typed, _Villains infighting. Vennema’s network neutralised_.

“We’d be a very good team,” Steve mused, and Tony tightened his fingers painfully around his tablet.

They would. But it would never happen.

***

He’s released from the hospital and back at SHIELD headquarters in the evening. Maria Hill is, understandably, furious.

“Everything you want to tell me,” he says, “I can assure you, I’ve already thought myself.”

She storms off, and he sighs, goes to his office. 

As he sits down, Extremis alerts him to a new email.

_I’m sorry_.

It’s sent from a temporary account, but Tony could track it.

He doesn’t.

He looks over the reports from the past two days. Steve hasn’t appeared again. SHIELD operations in different countries are going as planned, even if most agents are on edge. Tony can’t blame them. 

He needs to stop Steve, but he can’t force his hand, either.

The alarm blasting off surprises him. Steve’s just emailed him, what can be happening now?

“Sir.” Maria Hill is in his doorway. “It looks like two groups of villains are having it out at 10th and 27th Street.”

“Let me guess,” Tony says, getting up. “The Captain . . . Venom on the other side . . . Who else?”

“Taskmaster, Bullseye. There are Doombots with the Captain, and Magneto. Some others.”

Tony whistles. “We _could_ just watch,” he says even as what he’s thinking is _must get Steve_. 

Hill doesn’t seem amused. “I deployed a squad to keep the civilians safe, but—”

“I’m calling the Avengers,” Tony says. “And I’m flying myself.”

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t protest, and Tony counts that as a win.

Carol joins him on the way, and he shakes his head before she can ask. “I’ve no idea what’s going on,” he says.

“Think it has something to do with how he defended you?” Carol asks.

Tony winces. Possibly. Probably. 

“Avengers,” he says on the public comms, “let’s make sure they don’t blow our city up.”

Spider-Man and Thor check in, and Tony and Carol reach the fight first. It’s visible from afar—metal flying in every direction, smoke covering most of the street. There are screams, but the SHIELD agents seem to be doing a good job of keeping the civilians out. Tony hopes no one’s trapped inside.

When he gets through the smoke he sees Venom latching on to Steve, and then he just _doesn’t think_.

Tony repulsors Venom away before turning on Steve. “We have unfinished business,” he snarls, hauling Steve up by his uniform. 

Steve’s eyes widen, and Tony makes sure his grip on Steve is secure before flying up, out of the immediate fighting zone. Steve hits him with the shield as they’re flying.

“Are you an idiot,” Tony snaps.

“Let me go!” Steve yells. 

Tony drops him to the roof and rounds up on him. “I have no idea what you’re doing there—”

“That’s new, coming from mister _I-know-everything-best_ ,” Steve snarls. “I keep thinking, what else—what else did you hide from me, what else was a lie—”

Not much, Tony thinks. Everything.

“You’re destroying the city!” Tony yells.

“One of us has to be the villain, and I’m reminding you who!” Steve yells back. He punches Tony, and Tony doesn’t try to defend himself, too shocked to react.

“I was trying to protect you,” he whispers, but Steve either ignores him or doesn’t hear him, and hits him with the shield again, bringing Tony down to his knees.

Tony’s tired. Too tired to fight back—and he wouldn’t fight against Steve anyway. If Steve considered deleting his memories a betrayal so personal . . . 

Tony doesn’t know what to do with this information.

Steve tears Tony’s faceplate away. Tony tries to speak, but there’s blood in his mouth. He spits it out, and Steve’s frozen on top of him, his shield raised high.

Tony’s ruined them both.

“Finish it,” he whispers.

Steve drops the shield. He tries to roll away, but Tony finds his strength at last, and grabs him by his wrist. “Steve,” he says.

Steve shakes his head silently.

“You were right,” Tony says anyway. “I hadn’t told you everything.”

Steve turns to him, his eyes feverish. “I don’t want—”

“No,” Tony interrupts. “I—I love you. I always have. That’s true. I had never before changed anything about you, in whatever way.”

“You changed my whole life,” Steve whispers.

Tony exhales quietly. “But that evening when I told you I wiped your memories—and everyone else’s—I lied. The world hadn’t just found out about us, and I hadn’t rewritten the memory of everyone on Earth.”

Steve’s gone as still as death next to him.

“We ran away together,” Tony says. “Just like you said. I would’ve been happy to keep running with you. But we’re not normal people. We’re not normal heroes, or normal villains, or normal anyone. And so they kept looking, and they found us.” He steels himself. “And you died.”

Steve wrenches his wrist out of Tony’s hand. “What are you saying?” he asks intently.

“You died,” Tony repeats, and he thinks he’s crying. He can hear the fight going on down in the street, and he doesn’t care. This is more important. “You died, and I didn’t, and . . . I snapped. I have a Reality Gem, you know. It’s in my care, so that a villain doesn’t get it into their hands. So that no one uses it irresponsibly.” He has the urge to laugh. “But you died, Steve, and I did the only thing I could. I used the Gem, and I made it unhappen. I fixed the world.” He looks down. “Only I broke it, too, didn’t I?”

Steve doesn’t answer.

“Go,” Tony says. “Keep out of jail for me, Steve.”

“I—”

“Come on. I’m down anyway. Punch me, run away.”

Steve shakes his head.

“Come home when you’re ready,” Tony says. “I’ll be waiting. I promise.”

Steve shudders all over. He raises his shield, moves his hand back. Tony prepares for the hit, and then Steve punches the ground just next to his head, hard, and is running, jumping over to the next roof.

Tony doesn’t get up for a few moments, and when he does, it’s to fly back down and help the Avengers finish off the villains.

It’s done.

***

Tony accesses the SHIELD’s servers and searches for the Captain. 

It’s his weekly ritual, now. It started as a daily thing, but slowly, Tony has been left reading the same couple of things over and over.

It always starts with, _The last major appearance was during the villains’ attack—the Captain engaged in close combat with Director Stark—_

Tony closes his hands into fists. He _knows_ how it started. 

But for all his genius, he’s got no idea how it ends.

At first, sometimes, new reports appeared: _The Captain spotted at . . . The Captain appeared to be . . ._ But even that dwindled down to _Unconfirmed: the Captain in Brooklyn street fight? Gang members delivered to a local police station_.

And then the _unconfirmed_ notes became rarer too, and then, and then; and now Tony’s left with no word on Steve and no guesses of his own.

But he still checks; every week—as if he wouldn’t know the moment Steve resurfaced.

Tony thinks he _can_ probably track down Steve himself; he very carefully did not look into his art gallery. Or he can scan the whole bloody planet to find him; the only supersoldier in the world, surely he could find him that way. He doesn’t try it.

Tony knows fully well he’s broken something between them the moment he decided to hell with all the rules and brought Steve back.

And as he considers it, lying in his empty bed, awake long into the night, he knows: it was worth it. 

Steve is still out there. Steve is still alive. Tony still loves him so, so much. 

As long as Steve’s okay, the world can keep turning.

Two months into the silence, new reports appear. Not on the Captain this time, and not on any villain, but Tony’s search algorithm brings it them anyway.

_Mystery hero in the American colours helped fight Hammer’s drones._

_A new “Captain America”, trying to stay out of the media, brought down a Hydra cell._

_Captain America helped Fantastic Four—_

Tony calls Reed before he can process it. 

“I don’t know, Tony; I thought _you_ had the registration list,” Reed says. “Still, if you really don’t know who he is, that is troubling . . . I just saw him for a few minutes, but he was definitely enhanced.”

“No,” Tony says slowly. “I have an idea.”

_Captain America fighting crime in New York—rumours saying he’s not registered in SHRA?!_

And finally, an Avengers call. Tony suits up, and tries not to hope.

***

It’s a regular call, really; an AIM cell trying to field-test their latest ideas. As a mechanic himself, Tony’s _insulted_.

What’s not normal is that they manage to hit Carol with an energy beam she doesn’t immediately absorb. 

“Fuck,” Tony says, already seeing he won’t reach her in time to cover her from the next blow, “Can someone—”

He stops talking, because there’s a movement, quick like lightning, and a person in a blue suit in front of Carol, his shield protecting them both.

Tony knows that shield, and Tony knows that man.

They take the AIM goons down easily, after that, and Tony passes Carol to Jan before landing into _Captain America’s_ path before he can run off.

Tony shakes his head at him, and then pulls his helmet off. “So,” he says, looking into Steve’s blue, blue eyes under his cowl. “Captain America.”

“Director Stark.”

“Weeell,” Tony says, “I’m here on Avengers business.”

“Iron Man,” Steve corrects himself, carefully looking around. “Am I breaking the law now?”

“I don’t know,” Tony drawls, slowly, trying to drink in the sight of Steve, unharmed and _there_ , just in front of him. “You’re not in the SHRA database.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. The cowl covers most of the expression, but Tony’s seen him do it a thousand times; he knows all of Steve’s quirks. “Do you not know who I am, Director?”

“I think,” Tony says, “I might need some more explanation before I make it official, yes. How did a painter become a hero, Steve?”

Steve raises a corner of his mouth in a smile. “He must’ve had something important to protect, clearly, Tony.”

Tony nods. “Come by the Tower this evening,” he says. _Come home_. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “It’s occurred to me my husband might be waiting.”

Tony makes a show of looking him up and down. “For a man like you? I’m sure he is.”

Steve smiles and turns to go.

“And, oh, Captain America, as you’ve proven to be a hero—your identity is safe with me,” Tony calls.

Steve doesn’t turn back, but he doesn’t need to; Tony knows he’s still smiling, almost fondly. “And so is my heart.”

_That_ makes Tony stand up straighter, but Steve’s already disappeared. Well, that’s fine: he’s always needed his time. Tony will see him again tonight.

He strolls back to make sure Carol’s okay—she’ll snap at him to stop acting like a mother-hen, he knows—and can’t stop smiling, waiting for the evening.

He missed being home, too.

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't see it earlier, remember to look at Faite's [amazing art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12891630) and ranoutofrun's [great illustrations](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12897372) now and tell them you love it :) 
> 
> This fic also has a [tumblr post](https://laireshi.tumblr.com/post/168128492962/cap-im-bb-all-that-you-love-all-that-you-hate). Faite's art preview tumblr post is [here](http://hellogarbagetime.tumblr.com/post/168122526899/all-that-you-love-all-that-you-hate-by-laireshi) and ranoutofrun's art post is [here](http://ranoutofrun.tumblr.com/post/168170974579/capironman-big-bang-2017-all-that-you-love-all).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for 'All That You Love, All That You Hate'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12897372) by [ranoutofrun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranoutofrun/pseuds/ranoutofrun)




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